Untold Tales of the Sachakan Years
by cece1994
Summary: "As far as we try to run, as fast and we try to escape, we cannot get away from the tales that insist on being told." The story of Akkarin's years in Sachaka. Rated T for violence and infrequent bad language.
1. A Most Ambitious Young Man

**Untold Tales of The Sachakan Years**

Chapter One: A Most Ambitious Young Man

There must be an infinite number of ways to start a story. A statement of fact, a pearl of wisdom, a quotation from an ancient text, I could go on. The method an author chooses probably says an awful lot about her. It displays for her entire readership how she chooses to view the world, and upon what she places value. So judge such a decision carefully in your minds when you read it- it may very well mean something beyond the simple words on the page.

Me, you ask, as you tap your foot with impatience as I rattle on in such philosophical terms? How do you plan on starting your tale? Me, I plan on starting this tale very simply- at its beginning.

Let us go right back to the start, further back than we have ever been before together. Forget everything you thought you knew, for it will only cloud your judgement. Forget all the stories you have already been told, because this tale I tell you now may very well alter them beyond recognition. Let us step back and watch the years roll away before our very eyes… Let us begin.

In the second year of King Kalpol's reign, the very same year that the Purge of Imardin's lower classes from the city began, on a frosty morning in early Winter, a child, a boy to be precise, was born at the ancient family seat of the Delvons. The eldest child and only son of one of the most powerful men in the city, let alone the country, the child was destined to rule over the House of Velan with ease. His father was overjoyed to finally have an heir, someone he could mould into his very likeness to take control after him. And, from his earliest days in the crib, his mother had his entire future envisaged in her mind, like one of the great tapestries that hung around the very house in which the child slept innocently. She would marry him off to a noble lady of impeccable breeding and grace, and together, the new Lord and Lady Delvon would sire children to continue one of the most powerful dynasties known of in modern Kyralian history, maybe in the history of all the Allied Lands themselves.

But Fate, she had other ideas.

It reminds me that old saying- what is the quickest way to make the gods laugh? Tell them your plans, of course.

As happened to all children of the Houses of Imardin, the boy was tested for magical ability around the time of his tenth birthday, despite it being common knowledge, even to him, that his parents believed his destiny to lie outside of the Guild's walls. But the boy didn't mind such testing in the slightest- after all, he found magicians to be the most interesting people he had ever come across. They were always held in such high esteem whenever they were seen at court, and in all the stories he read, they were great players, no matter what the plot.

The young purple-robed magician that had come to the house had paled slightly as he had pulled away from the young boy's mind, disturbed by the vast amount of power he had found already stored there. He then gave the boy a look very reminiscent of the one that the boy's nurse gave him when he played one of his many tricks on her: _how did you manage to do that? _The boy blinked up at him innocently, completely unaware of who he truly was. Well, why would he have any idea?

The boy would remember, remember until his dying day, sitting halfway up the staircase of his family's city home, eavesdropping as the magician told his parents exactly what he had seen. He knew his mother would be furious if he was discovered, but he reasoned he had the right to hear such important conversations regarding himself. What he heard shocked and confused him.

…_Great potential…power almost beyond measure…_

… _never seen such strength in one so young…_

…_An insult to both the boy and the Guild for it to be overlooked…would you not reconsider your previous decision?_

…_Already spoken to the higher magicians… they say with such strength he is already a candidate for the highest of offices..._

His parents had refused to give the Guild an answer straight away, and the boy was unable to hear any more of their deliberations as the magician was shown out of the house, and the door to the guest room was clicked shut. But the boy was intelligent enough to know, even at the tender age he was, that this decision was one that could change the fate of their Family and House forever. After all, his parents had no other heir. Two children had swiftly followed the son, yes, but both girls, and were therefore clearly incapable of inheriting more than substantial dowries. Clearly. So, what to do? Risk the Delvon name being lost forever, and another of the Velan families take their place? Or use the opportunity to seize even greater power?

It should be noted that the Delvons were never known for caution or prudence. They were renowned risk takers. After only one night of deliberation- they had an answer for the Guild, sent by the earliest courier they could find. The answer was yes. Yes, you may have our son upon his fifteenth birthday. Yes, he may become a magician, and take the vow that future entails.

Whilst the Delvons were known for their political gambling, it should also be noted that they never gambled beyond their means. This was a calculated risk. Yes, their son was supposed to be Delvon's heir, but they knew that, if they played their cards right, he could do _even better. _Patience reaps the greatest of rewards, after all. So they announced to their awaiting House the almost unheard decision that they were sending their only son to join the Guild, stating that "our son will bring honour to us all through the certain prospect of his ascension through the ranks of magicians due to his intellect, maturity and, above all, strength." And besides, becoming a magician wouldn't stop the son himself being able to produce heirs.

Quite the responsibility to succeed to put on a boy of ten. He, of course, was not consulted on any of this. But, for once, he was indebted to his parents for such a decision. This was all he had never known he wanted. And then every night from the day his father had told him their decision to his last night at his parents' home before he moved to the Novices' Quarters, he dreamt of the day his life would change, completely and unchangeably. And he prayed for the strength to meet such a destiny.

And so, the dice were thrown. And, of course, we know that it was almost the best gamble Lord and Lady Delvon ever played. Almost.

But let us not get too ahead of ourselves, reader- there are many years between us and that eventual conclusion. It is imperative for us to consider how such events were allowed to transpire. Leaders aren't born, after all, they are made. So let us now move forward another ten years, to a warm morning in early summer, to the beautiful grounds of the Magicians' Guild of Kyralia in the East Quarter of Imardin. We focus on a figure in the garb of a Guild magician, the cloth a deep blue, carrying a box of papers under one arm. He is not the man we have met before wearing this colour- this man is stockier, greyer and older- but he wears his age like a statesman.

He makes his way quickly through the Guild's immaculately kept gardens, taking this slightly longer route than necessary to from the Guildhall to his office in order to avoid attracting attention from unwanted requesters- after all, some things never change. He has been Administrator for getting on for a quarter century now, so he has learnt the art of moving quickly and quietly. He does not succeed this time, however, as he brought to a halt by a half-shout in his direction.

"Administrator!"

The Administrator sighed but didn't let the curse that was going around his head escape his lips. He told himself how much he enjoyed his job, that serving the Guild's members was an honour, and managed to settle his face into an expression of polite neutrality, before turning to the caller. He had recognised deep tones of the voice instinctively as one of his fellow Higher Magicians.

"Yes, Lord Balkan? What can I do for you?"

The Head of Warriors was slightly out of breath by the time he reached the Administrator's side. He wore the same slightly concerned expression that he had worn every day since he had been elected as a Higher Magician around two years prior. He had yet to learn that ability of keeping one's emotions off of one's face- still, it would probably come in time, the Administrator mused, as Balkan was still a relatively young man. In his hand Balkan held a folded piece of paper with a broken wax Guild seal, which he gestured to as he finally came to a halt on the gravel path. "I take it you have received the same request as I have this morning?"

The Administrator smiled at him, amused. "I receive a dozen requests every morning, Balkan. You are going to need to be a bit more precise in order for me to be of service to you."

To the Administrator's surprise, Balkan's face reddened slightly, but he continued as if he hadn't noticed. "Oh, of course, I apologise. The one of which I speak is from Lord Akkarin. He has written to both of us to request permission to travel to Capia to visit the Great Library of Elyne."

The Administrator frowned, struggling to put a face to a name. The issue with being in charge of the Guild's administration was that he was expected to know every name and every face at the drop of a hat. Whilst he had worked hard to improve his working memory of the Guild's members, it was by no means perfect. He drummed his fingers on his box as he thought.

_Akkarin…Akkarin…why is that name familiar?_

Then recognition suddenly came to him in a flash. "Akkarin, he's Delvon's boy, isn't he?" he asked.

Balkan nodded in agreement. "He is indeed, though not much the boy anymore. He graduated just last month."

As Balkan said those words, the Administrator remembered the young man as memory of the Graduation ceremony from last month returned to him. The new Warrior was tall and dark, even by Kyralian standards. He had a grave face, but it was well chiselled, with high cheekbones and intelligent eyes. His new full red robes suited him well. _He must have had the female magicians in his class in the palm of his hand, _he mused. "Ah, of course, I remember him now. So, I suppose the first question is for what purpose does he wish to travel?"

"He wishes to write a book. A book on…" Balkan opened the folded letter and studied it momentarily. "Ancient magical practices. Whatever that means. He needs access to books that we don't have here, but the Librarian tells him are in Capia."

The Administrator snorted slightly. "That to me sounds more like an excuse to get away from the Guild rather than anything to do else." He considered the request briefly, weighing up the possible consequences of such an excursion. Whilst he didn't mind magicians wishing to travel in other lands, in fact such trips could be of benefit not just to the magician in question but the Guild as a whole, it was important that they remembered their duty to the Guild. Being a magician wasn't just a title, after all, it was a job. The Administrator was also particularly weary of sending off Warriors for indefinite periods of time. Whilst the Guild was under no threat of attack, a good leader knows they need to always be ready. Considering the fact he didn't know the young man nearly well enough to know if this was a good idea, the Administrator decided he couldn't make such a decision without further information. "Well, you know the man him far better than I do, being of your set," he said. "What do you think? Would it be prudent of me to allow him to go?"

Balkan pursed his lips, thinking. "He is a very gifted magician- and very powerful too. He graduated as first Warrior of his year by a clear margin. But like many recent graduates, I believe he is rather restless and in need of letting off steam. Such feelings have lead to graduates getting into all sorts of scrapes in the past, so I think an excursion would may do Akkarin good- after all, five years study here is a long time for the young. And besides, contact and interaction with another culture could be of particular use to him in the long run."

The Administrator raised an eyebrow at such a remark, wondering where Balkan was going with it. "Oh, why him especially?"

"He is a most ambitious young man by all accounts- my own included. He has a particular set of skills that could be…" Balkan shrugged noncommittedly, "of great benefit to the Guild one day, skills which would be well honed through international travel. Diplomacy, negotiation- plus, everyone seems to naturally like him."

As Balkan spoke, the Administrator had begun to remember something about the young man of which they spoke for himself. _Akkarin of the Family Delvon, House Velan, how could I forget about you? _He remembered the mental communication he had had with Lord Galen, over ten years prior, upon the testing Akkarin's strength as a child. He remembered the awe that Galen had had for the boy's strength. His memory took him forward, and he remembered overheard conversations about the novice in the Night Room. Now Balkan's remark about "skills that could be of great benefit to the Guild" made sense. This magician was going to go places in the Guild, no doubt about it.

Even so, the Administrator was surprised by such a testimonial coming from Balkan of all people, and he looked at the Warrior speculatively. _This is unlike him_, he mused to himself. _The judgment he gives is usually far more balanced…_ "You think that highly of him, Lord Balkan?"

Balkan hesitated before replying. "I speak of facts, not opinions, Administrator," he said gruffly.

The Administrator decided it would not be of any use to further press the matter, despite the curiosity such a comment raised within him. _Perhaps this is something to ponder later. But for now, back to the matter at hand. _He nodded, more to himself than his companion. "Very well, Lord Akkarin may travel to Elyne with my consent. However, I will be expecting regular reports of his book's progress sent to me via you, to check he isn't simply wandering around the country aimlessly. I will also expect his final return...well, shall we say within a year, unless he applies for an extension. Also, seeing as he will be travelling as a Guild representative, he may well be called upon by myself or the Ambassadors in Elyne to carry out Guild business on our behalf- state banquets, testing children, that sort of thing. Put simply, he will make himself useful."

Balkan inclined his head once. "I'm sure he would be happy to oblige."

The Administrator smiled- this had been simpler than he thought it might have been. "Good. Was there anything else?"

Balkan referred to the letter once again. "Well, actually the request is a little more complicated than just that," he said slowly, seeming to be choosing his words with care. "He also writes, due to its nature, the research may well take him out the borders of Elyne. He would therefore like open permission to travel beyond to other Allied Lands, and indeed perhaps beyond."

The Administrator frowned at that. "No magician has ever been given permission to travel alone outside of the Allied Lands this side of the turn of the century- from his Warrior Skills studies, Akkarin should well aware of that fact- and the reasons why."

"To be fair upon Akkarin, he did write as much, but he also believes his extensive magical strength will protect him from any problems he may come across."

The Administrator allowed himself a smile at such- well, arrogance. "He could be as strong as the High Lord himself and I would deny such a request. The answer is and will remain no. The simple fact remains that we have no idea how a Guild magician will be received in a non-Allied country. I am happy to extend my permission to say he may go where he pleases in the Allied Lands, with the same conditions above applying, but he is not to set a toe anywhere else that does not display the Allied Lands' flag. Especially Sachaka."

Balkan nodded, seeming to be not a little relieved by such a decision. "Very good, Administrator, I shall write up a response to him and send it to your office for you to add your seal within the hour."

The Administrator smiled kindly at the man. "Thank you, Lord Balkan. I appreciate you taking the time."

As Balkan nodded his politely and strode purposefully away, the Administrator sighed and held back a wry chuckle. He then started to walk through the gardens again, but at a slower pace this time.

Oh, to be so young and bold. To be so free of fear and self-doubt that you would willingly walk into a land that for all you know is full to the brim of enemies and assume you have the ability to get yourself out alive. But, then again, perhaps that was the point of being young- and it was up to the older generation to ensure that you never go too far. That was his job as Administrator, and he wouldn't begrudge Akkarin wanting to enjoy his youth- particularly if, one day, he would be shouldering office that the Administrator knew from experience could be back-breaking at times. Freedom is wasted on the free.

**To celebrate the anniversary of my first story, here is my second! How are you? Enjoying the summer? Since we last 'met', I have watched my best friend get married, got myself the job of my dreams and got my first Uber. Good times. Enough about me, here's the plan- twenty chapters telling the story of how Akkarin learnt black magic and became High Lord. So all original content, eek! This idea was given to me by a reviewer, so you really **_**really**_** do make a difference when you sent me your thoughts. Also, thanks to everyone who wrote such lovely things on the epilogue of my first fic- you darlings, I don't deserve you. Lots of love, Cece xox**


	2. The Crescent

Chapter Two: The Crescent

As the carriage drew closer to the marina, Akkarin felt himself being watched. He looked over at his companion, who was sitting on the seat opposite him. Lorlen was studying him closely, like he was a problem to solve, or that he was one of the patients in the Healers' Quarter and he was trying to make a diagnosis.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Akkarin asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend. Lorlen opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it again and shook his head. "Oh, come on, out with it," Akkarin grinned, now more amused than intrigued by Lorlen's reticence to speak. "I can tell you're dying to say something."

Lorlen took a deep breath. He looked away from Akkarin as he finally spoke, his fingers curling around themselves as he did so. "You…you will come back, won't you?" He sounded embarrassed, and he face flushed slightly as if he should know better than to ask such a question.

Akkarin looked at his friend curiously and allowed himself a small laugh. "Of course I will, you fool! Wild horses couldn't keep me away- well, I suppose they could for a bit, which is my reason for going really , but they certainly couldn't keep me away forever. Besides, Balkan has ordered me to return after a year unless I have "good reason", and we both know that he will find any excuse to turn down such a request. Why do you ask?"

Lorlen shrugged. "I don't know, things could happen whilst you are away that make you want to stay…I mean, what if you meet some exotic girl and want to marry her? What if you find friends who you like better than us?"

Akkarin snorted. "What if I decide to become a pirate and go off to sail the high seas? What if I discover a sudden faith and join a monastery? There are some possibilities so remote they're not worth worrying about, Lorlen. Honestly, my dear friend, you always worry too much."

Lorlen opened his mouth in mock horror. "No, I worry exactly the right amount."

"The right amount for both us combined, you mean?" Akkarin chided. "I never worry about anything because I know you're doing all the worrying for me."

Lorlen rolled his eyes at his friend good-humouredly. "Well, I am happy to be of service to you, oh mighty one."

Akkarin frowned. "What was that?"

"What?"

"What you called me just then?"

"Oh mighty one?" Lorlen shrugged non-committedly. "I just thought of it. It suits you, don't you think? You and your…magnanimity."

It was Akkarin's turn to feign horror. "I am not magnanimous!"

"Just as you say, oh mighty one." Lorlen smirked at him, then sighed. "Well, all the same, promise to write, wherever it is you end up," he said firmly.

Akkarin raised an eyebrow. "You should know me well enough by now to know I never make such promises."

Lorlen laughed heartedly. "Fine, _agree_ to write, then."

Akkarin pretended to think such a proposition through with deliberate studiousness. "I will agree to that, if you will keep me up to date with all the Guild gossip," he bartered, then smiled to himself. "Particularly about Lord Horton. He is going to have a _very _interesting year, I can tell already."

Lorlen looked at him incredulously. "I have a clear memory of you saying that Horton was not worth the wine he pours into himself with such gusto. Surely your adventures in far-off lands will be more interesting that the…bedroom adventures of that idiot?"

Akkarin smiled slyly. "Perhaps, I will get back to you on that." Then the carriage jostled them to a halt and he looked out the window, though the sound of crashing waves and the sound of the gulls calling made it clear where they were. "Ah, looks like we're here."

After a few heartbeats, the door to the carriage was opened by the driver, and the two young magicians stepped out to the sensation of salty air and bright sunlight. Akkarin looked around them, taking in the pleasing scene. On pleasant days like this, the marina was an ideal place to find oneself, as it both caught the sun and had a constant breeze to keep one at an ideal temperature.

As the driver untied the luggage from the carriage, Akkarin turned to face his friend. He knew this would be the last time they would see each other in a long time, but suddenly couldn't think of anything to say.

"Well, I suppose this is about it then. Any last words for me?" he said, smiling.

Lorlen rolled his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest. "You're not dying, Akkarin, just travelling."

"Fine, any advice, then?"

Lorlen frowned. "Don't insult anyone accidentally- or on purpose, come to think of it. Don't eat anything that you don't know where it came from. Don't drink too much. Don't sleep with too many women. And don't let too many of the ones you do sleep with fall in love with you. Do as the Ambassadors tell you. And come back in one piece."

Silence fell between them then, then they both started laughing. "I was kind of expecting something more heartfelt than a list of rules, but I thank you regardless." Akkarin considered his friend with fondness. "Look after yourself, Lorlen. Don't let Vinara work you into the ground."

"Ha, I would like to see you stop her!"

Akkarin held out a hand for Lorlen to take. Lorlen eyed it dubiously, stepped forward and engulfed Akkarin in a tight hug. Akkarin let out a slightly choked laugh in response, and hugged his friend in return. "I'll miss you, too!" For a brief moment, standing there with his friend who he was leaving behind, he had a sudden desire not to go. Suddenly, home seemed to safe and secure to ever leave.

Somehow, Lorlen seemed to realise the thoughts going through his friend's mind, as he then quickly pulled away and gently pushed Akkarin towards the docks. "Go on then, go and live a life outside the Guild for both of us."

Akkarin took a deep breath and nodded. "Farewell, old friend. Keep this place in good order for my return."

Lorlen grinned at him and, without looking back, hopped back into the carriage. Akkarin stood and watched it as the horses took up a quick trot and the carriage gently rolled away, the golden Guild symbol painted on its dark wood glinting in the early morning sunlight. It suddenly hit him, for the first time in his life, he was going somewhere where he didn't know a single soul. Of course there would other magicians in Capia, and he knew some of the courtiers by reputation, but no one he personally knew. The thought was, almost, frightening. But Akkarin has always considered himself the kind of person who laughed in the face of fear.

"My Lord?" A voice at Akkarin's shoulder pulled him out of his reverie. He looked to where the words had come. A short stocky man dressed in rough crewman clothes bowed deeply as Akkarin met his gaze. "I am Fondin, my Lord, first mate of The Crescent. The cap'n asked me to bring you aboard, if you are ready?"

"Yes, I am, thank you."

Fondin bowed again, and clicked his fingers at a couple of young men standing by. They immediately ran up and each took one of the chests Akkarin had brought. Fondin then gestured for Akkarin to follow him, and set a quick pace towards the docks. Akkarin was careful to keep up with him- with the marina being so busy and with men all wearing similar attire, it would be very easy to lose Fondin in the crowd.

After much ducking and weaving through the throngs of people, Fondin eventually stopped as they came abreast with one of the more superior ships along the port. It was also one of the busier ones, too, with dozens of young men running up the numerous gangplanks and on the ship itself, seeming to be readying her for her departure. Noticing the obvious and unique shape of the ship, with its obvious arc into its centre, Akkarin finally understood its name. At the Crescent's brig, an older man dressed much more finely than anyone else at the port stood and surveyed it all with an experienced air.

"The Crescent," Fondin said not a little proudly, gesturing to the ship. Akkarin had read of sailors' pride in their personal craft- now he was seeing it for the first time himself.

"It's splendid," he replied.

"_She_," Fondin corrected with a smile. "The cap'n wanted to speak to you before it all gets a little crowded on deck."

"Of course," Akkarin said.

Fondin directed Akkarin to the nearest gangplank, shooed away the men who were about to use it and politely gestured for Akkarin to walk up it first. He did so gingerly, not wanting to overbalance in front of an audience of weathered seafarers. It intrigued him that these men didn't seem at all phased by the fact that he was a magician, compared to people not from the Houses he had met. Clearly they were used to having such guests on board their ships.

He reached the deck of The Crescent with a small sigh of relief, then waited for Fondin to join him. When the man had done so, darting up the gangplank far quicker than Akkarin had done, he immediately started in the direction of brig. Akkarin followed, carefully avoiding the many crates that were being loaded, and the ropes that were scattered across the wooden floor. Climbing up to the top of the ship's rear 'arc', Akkarin found himself face to face with the man that he had seem observing the commotion earlier.

"Cap'n, this is Lord Akkarin, the magician travelling with us," Fondin introduced. "My Lord, this is Captain Kernin, Captain of the Crescent. He is in charge of all who board the ship, so we all have to do as he says."

Akkarin couldn't help but notice the emphasis Fondin but on the word _all. _It suggested that this crew had had issues with disobedient magicians before. Well, he certainly wasn't planning on joining that group. He inclined his head to the Captain.

"Honoured to meet you, Captain Kernin. Thank you for allowing me to travel with you."

The Captain chuckled slightly, and bowed to Akkarin, but not as deeply as Fondin had. "Welcome aboard the Crescent, my Lord. Don't worry about Fondin's warning, I am not expecting you to do any work, the Guild is more than generous in supplying men for the ships it charters. But it is always useful to have a magician on board in case something should go amiss. Not that I expect it to, the journey to Capia is an easy one."

"Of course, if I can be of any assistance to you, Captain, I would be happy to oblige."

Kernin smiled broadly. "Oh, I do enjoy Guild politeness, such a pleasant change to the manners of these ruffians." He gestured around him at his men, but Akkarin noticed a distinct fondness in his eyes. "I may take you up on your offer- but for now, I would appreciate it if you would go below deck and stay there until I say otherwise. My men have much to do to prepare us to cast off, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt…or in the way."

"Aye Aye, Captain."

Kernin smiled again. "I believe we shall get on well, Lord Akkarin- I look forward to getting to know you better, and hearing more about the reason for your travels. Fondin, please show our guest to his quarters."

"Yes, Cap'n," Fondin replied. "This way, my Lord."

Once again, Akkarin followed Fondin. They made their way back down from the brig, onto the main deck and down a ladder at its centre into the belly of the ship. This time Fondin went first, and once again Akkarin was quietly surprised by the man's speed. Fondin couldn't be younger than forty, but he appeared to have the strength of a man half his age.

As he stepped down from the last rung of the ladder and looked around the darkness of the creaking interior, Akkarin suddenly understood why he had been warned so darkly about sea travel. Three weeks of _this? _

Fondin didn't seem put off by the darkness or the constant movement of the wood beneath their feet, and swiftly made his way down a tight corridor. Akkarin followed him as quickly as he could, trying not to stumble- and when he did, trying not to be obvious about it. They came to the last door on the corridor. Fondin opened it and gestured to Akkarin.

"This will be yours. It's not much, but they can be surprisingly cosy at night."

As Akkarin moved forward and peered into the room, he decided that term was being too generous. Fondin had been correct- it really wasn't much. The space was barely big enough to fit the small bed that it contained, a wooden chair and pretty much nothing else. Still, it had a small porthole, which allowed in a little light.

"One of the boys will bring your small things when they have a moment my Lord. We'll be off within the hour, so you won't have to wait here long. I'll have someone come and get you once we've cast off."

Akkarin realised this was the man's polite way of asking for dismissal. "Thank you, Fondin, you've been most generous with your time."

"No rub," the man shrugged before bowing and quickly striding away. Akkarin blinked after the man- _no rub_? What curious phrases these people used. But then again, he supposed he ought to get used to odd phrases and new idioms if it was his plan to travel the world.

He took the two steps that the room allowed him, ducking his head under the low ceiling and looked out the very small makeshift window. Even though the ship clearly wasn't going anywhere, it was difficult to keep focus on anything due to its constant bobbing in the water. But he could see enough to make out the Marina, and the wall to the West Quarter beyond. He knew that a few leagues to the East was the quarter that contained his home of the past five years. He wondered what it would look like to him upon his return. Smaller? Less grand? Such things often happened as one grew up and spent time away from a place, but he certainly hoped this would not happen to him. He loved the Guild far too much to be willing to think any less of it.

Not long after he had been left by Fondin, he heard light feet pacing down the corridor. A young boy peered around the doorway and looked at him with not a little awe. Akkarin smiled at the youth, not wanting to seem too intimidating. The boy's lips quirked up in reply. He then bowed, and handed over the small bag of luggage Akkarin had packed for the journey. He thanked the boy's back as he ran off again.

Pulling open the bag, he fumbled around inside, checking that everything he needed was inside. It was, to his relief- the Guild's servants were always exceptional packers. As he rummaged, his fingers curled around a familiar leather textured book. He smiled to himself, once again grateful that his servant had thought that he might want it on the journey. He pulled the book out and found his pen was stowed with it, neatly kept in place by the leather thong that kept the book shut. Untying the thong and opening the book to the next blank page, he sat down on the wooden chair and began to write.

Akkarin had made a conscious effort to keep a diary since joining the university five years prior. Whilst others had teased him for it, calling it a girlish past time, it gave him something of an advantage over his peers as to their memory of events. More than once they had come to him, begging him to recount exactly how a particular set of events took place, and he had managed to make himself "the commissioner of truth", which had only added to his popularity.

After graduation, it had seemed natural to keep up the habit, but very quickly he had noticed through his journaling that his days had started following the same boring pattern. He might spend the morning in private study, perhaps helping one of the Warrior skills teachers with their marking, then the afternoon with Lorlen, or some of their other friends if Lorlen was working, and then the evening at some party or banquet. That kind of existence may sound pleasurable, but its joy quickly fades. Akkarin was the kind of man who needed to feel he was accomplishing something- after all, if you're not _doing _something, you are simply treading water, wasting your life away. It was then he decided it was time to get away from the Guild for a while. He had been incredibly grateful to the Administrator for accepting his request to travel, even if he had stifled it somewhat. Still, a year of freedom, a year of interesting things to diarise.

After a time, he heard loud whistles and cries from above. Then there were great creaks and groans from the wooden hull as Akkarin suddenly felt a distinct jolt, and had to stop himself from making an inky mess on the page as the pen twitched in his fingers from the movement. Putting down his diary and pen, he moved to look out the window. He saw the delicate outline of Imardin slowly begin to move away from him. Well, there was no turning back now, no hesitation that could be of any use. And, to Akkarin's relief, he didn't feel any fear or regret at this moment- only excitement.

The journey had begun.

**You know what one of the coolest things to get to do with a second fic is? Getting to quote your first one. That's big writer energy. Thanks to everyone who has already shown such love and encouragement for this story. It's gonna get wild. Love, Cece xox**


	3. What Do You Care What Other People Think

Chapter Three: What Do You Care What Other People Think?

"Tayend!"

A sudden jolt of shock bolted through him like lightening at the shout. Tayend had realised, long ago, that he was most easily shocked when he was deeply engrossed in reading. When he was called from the page, it gave him the feeling of being struck. Right now, for example, his mind was far more attached to this exciting piece of Lonmar poetry he was translating than the real world. No one could blame him really, it really was a fantastic verse- it told the story of an epic siege on one of the country's grandest cities centuries past. So when the librarian's rasping tones called their way across the battlefield, Tayend realised something was wrong, and felt his mind being violently pulled back from the other world with the force of a punch to the chest. Winded, he shook his head to recover his equilibrium, and sat back in his chair.

"_TAYEND!"_

The shout came again- louder this time, and angrier. Cursing quietly to himself, Tayend scrambled out of his chair and trotted quickly out of the small room he had managed to snaffle for his own personal use and down the short length of corridor to Librarian Irand's office. Irand was not the most patient man at times, and right now, in the heat of summer when the library received its highest number of guests per day, he was even more irritable than usual.

As he stepped into the room, the familiar figure of Librarian Irand was sitting at his great oaken desk. It was a sight he had seen many times, and had come to deeply appreciate. But, to Tayend's surprise, his mentor wasn't alone. Irand hated having any visitors in his personal rooms, so this one must be of particular importance to have been given admittance. Tayend had seen this member of the select few before.

A tall young man in red magicians' robes stood beside Irand's chair, reading from a book he had in his hands. Tayend had to stop himself from staring at the guest too obviously- but it was a challenge. The magician had quite a…_presence _about him, though he was probably only a few years older than Tayend himself. That meant that he most likely had only recently graduated, but he had a look about him of maturity that went beyond his years. From his pale skin and dark hair, he was clearly of Kyralian descent- which Tayend thought curious. Very few Kyralians ever frequented the library when they visited Capia. From the little conversation Tayend had heard from them at court, they appeared to believe there were far better things to do. But then again, this was a magician, and they did seem to be able to appreciate knowledge a little better than the typical civilian. Even so, it spoke well of the man, that he had chosen to come here, seeming of his own volition. But Tayend pushed down such thoughts. He had learnt to conceal such feelings a long time ago, even from himself.

Both men glanced up as Tayend clicked the office door shut. He then approached the desk and bowed. Irand gave him a long hard glare, fingers steepled to a point under his chin. The magician simply studied him with a neutral curiosity.

"You called, Librarian?" Tayend said, as coolly as he could. He knew Irand would be irritated that he had had to call for his assistant twice- he did not suffer tardiness lightly. But Tayend also knew that the librarian held a deep, almost fatherly affection for him, so any negative feeling towards him wouldn't last long. And after some very careful experimentation, Tayend had even learnt that he didn't mind being teased- now and again. Even so, the glare in Irand's eyes almost made him flinch despite himself.

"Tayend, when you came to me three years ago and said you wanted to spend your time studying here, I agreed to such a request with the mutual understanding that you would make yourself useful, to me and the Library's visitors. I wonder, if I have to shout myself hoarse every time I am in need of you, do you think that you are making yourself useful to anyone?"

Tayend looked down at his feet, studying the deep purple of his shoes, abashed. Irand was right, of course. Access to the all the library's collections was not given out to anyone, and Irand had the right to expect something in return when he had given such access to Tayend. "No, Librarian."

"Well then, next time you had better remember that fact."

Glancing up, Tayend noticed that Irand's eyes had never left him. "Yes, Librarian."

Irand harrumphed, but his gaze did soften ever so slightly. "For now, we have a guest." He gestured at the figure standing next to him. For only the second time since he had come intp the room, Tayend allowed himself to look back at the magician. The man now had a look of quiet amusement about him as he watched the conversation going on around him. "Lord Akkarin," the Librarian began, a gravity entering his voice, a tone Tayend knew Irand only used for those he highly respected, "This is Tayend of Tremmalin, a student of mine, specialising in the languages and political history of the Allied Lands. He may look young, and not a little disobedient at present, but I promise you, no one has a better grasp of the languages you wish to translate, or knows their way around the library than Tayend. Tayend, this is Lord Akkarin of the Family Delvon, House Velan and, clearly, magician of the Guild. He is making a study of ancient magical practices, and therefore require assistance in finding his way around the library, and also the translations of certain texts. I have offered him your services."

"I am honoured to meet you, my Lord," Tayend said, bowing gracefully, as he had been taught to do in the presence of magicians. "It would be a pleasure to assist you in any way I can." Of course, those words weren't quite true- he would much rather be doing his own work- he was just making a breakthrough on the text he had been working on, a text that had never been translated before. But he knew that if he was to stay in favour with the Librarian, and therefore be allowed his unfettered access to the library's treasures, he had to allow himself to be put to work from time to time.

Akkarin nodded his head in reply. "Thank you for sparing the time, Tayend, I know there must be other things you could be getting on with. I have a list of titles that I hoped to find here, Irand advised me that it would probably be far quicker for you to hunt them out than for me to spend hours wondering around this place. I hope it will not take out too much time from your own studies."

Akkarin took a folded piece of note paper from a hidden pocket inside his robes and offered it to Tayend. Tayend moved forward and took it from him, his fingers brushing for an instant against the magician's. He ignored the slight frisson it sent through his arm and down his spine. He quickly distracted himself by looking over the list, where an elegant writing neatly covered the paper. Scanning the titles, he noted that he had read some of them, the titles of most seemed familiar, but a few were new to him. Suddenly, he wasn't as concerned about the time this project of Akkarin's may take up. One of the reasons he enjoyed helping magicians in their studies is that they often asked for books that he would otherwise have never known existed, rather than the charlatan scholars of the Houses who only ever asked for the most basic texts.

Irand's voice cut through his thoughts. "For now, Tayend, why don't you start with finding Lord Akkarin an appropriate study room," he suggested. "Once you have found one that meets with his requirements, you can then start collecting the books on his list for him. I believe the far corridor under the West Arch would be a good place to start, that's where a lot of the books on the history of magic are kept."

Tayend nodded, holding back a terse remark that yes, he knew very well where such books were kept, as he had read many of them. "Yes, Librarian."

Irand stood and turned his attention back to the young magician. "If there is anything more I can do for you, my Lord, please do not hesitate to ask. You can either visit me here or send me a note via Tayend if I have been called away. The Great Library is at your disposal. You may visit any time you wish, and stay for as long as pleases you."

To Tayend's surprise, Akkarin bowed to the older man. Kyralians were proud, so for a magician of their race to bow to anyone but a monarch was most unusual. "My thanks, Librarian Irand. I look forward to sharing with you any discoveries that I find."

Irand smiled and bowed in response, then looked at Tayend. "Tayend, over to you. Look after our guest well."

"Of course, Librarian. If you would follow me, my Lord?" He pulled open the office door he had only recently come through and gestured for Akkarin to exist ahead of him. The man smiled and did so, and then had no problem keeping up with Tayend as he set a quick pace into the main space of the library. They walked in silence for a time, but it didn't feel obligatory or awkward. Tayend wanted to give the magician the chance to enjoy the spectacle that was the Great Library of Elyne, with its arched stone roof and immense stain-glass windows. Akkarin sighed appreciatively as the Library;s basilica-style domed roof came into view, then cleared his throat.

"Is he always like that?" he asked softly. Tayend almost smiled to himself- there were no rules about being especially quiet in the library- Irand had found the space was big enough that talking rarely disturbed anyone, and even when it did, a gentle request did the trick. But even so, many people felt the need to talk in a hush when they came into the presence of books. Akkarin was no exception to this phenomenon.

Tayend turned his head slightly so that Akkarin appeared in his peripheral vision. "Irand, you mean? Most of the time. But over the years I have developed this theory that he is actually at his most happy when he at his most irritable. He seems to get some sort of curious enjoyment out of the sensation. It has held up on numerous occasions."

Akkarin snorted slightly. "So, Irand said you study here?"

Tayend nodded eagerly. "Yes, my Lord. I get free rein of the library whenever I want, and in exchange I make myself useful to the Librarian- and to his guests, of course."

Akkarin made a small noise of surprise. "Well, I doubt there are many other young men spending their free time here. It takes a three line whip to get most novices of the University to come to their library"

Tayend allowed himself a quiet rueful laugh. "I suppose there aren't many other young men like me in any way, my Lord." Then he carried on, without truly paying attention to what he was saying. "It's one of the reasons I like it here. It gives me space to think, without having to worry what they all think."

He felt the magician's gaze turn fully on him at that. "And what do you care what other people think?" he asked simply.

Tayend wasn't sure what to say to that, so he said nothing. He knew the answer, the answer was very clear to him- _a great deal. _He knew that wasn't what he was supposed to think, according to all the free thinkers and advice givers he had met. He was supposed to shake the dust from his feet when people were judgemental, deliberately misunderstanding, even cruel sometimes, but had come to the conclusion that he was simply one of those people that did care what other people thought of him. Of course, being _a lad, _as the Elynes charmingly coined it, was not a legal crime here, like it was in most of the Allied Lands. But that didn't mean that Elyne's people weren't cruel in their joking behaviour towards people with such inclinations, or enjoyed gossiping about _who _and _what had been done _and _goodness me, what will his father say? _Tolerance in moderation is no tolerance at all, in reality.

Perhaps Akkarin was one of those people who truly was able to roll his eyes and move on from any unwarranted criticism, but maybe that was because he was lucky enough to not have too many faults or defects that were magnets for other people's opinions. After all, from Tayend had seen of him, he seemed to be the living embodiment of what a magician is supposed to be. Unfortunately, Tayend found himself with many, many of those characteristics. So he appeared destined to a life in the shadows, constantly hiding himself for fear of what others might say. Tayend could easily live for another sixty years, and that is a long, long time to hide away. Still, he had found the perfect place to which he could slip away.

Luckily for him, Akkarin did not press the issue. Perhaps he realised he had unintentionally plucked at a nerve and backed off quickly, for which Tayend was very grateful. They walked through the Great Library for another few minutes. Tayend led the way down corridors of books, wider spaces that had chairs and tables, and even the occasional low doorway, where he had to warn Akkarin to mind his head. He had been asked by more than one awestruck visitor how he did it, how he remembered all these twists and turns. He replied in the same way every time- how does anyone know their way around their home city, even their own house, if it is grand enough to contain many floors and many staircases? They just do, because it is their home. This was the safest place he had ever known- of course he was going to know it inside out.

They finally reached their destination- an ornate door set into the great stone wall on the West Side of the library. There were many doors such as this one around the library, but this was the closest to the aisles Irand had suggested. Tayend opened the door and gestured for Akkarin to enter. Inside was a dark, but comfortable, study room. It was easily big enough to fit two people. Stain glass windows set high in the wall gave a little light, but not enough to work by. Despite the gloom, it was one of the nicer rooms that had been built into the library for the purpose of studying, many centuries ago now. He had heard more than one visitor complaining about them, so he wondered how Akkarin would react.

"Do you think this room would suit you, my Lord?" Tayend asked as his companion took in the space, trying to keep hesitancy from his voice. "It would only be for your use for as long as you are with us. There's paper, pens and ink on the desk, and we can get a fire going in the grate if it ever gets too cold."

Akkarin turned back to him and smiled. "It will do perfectly- thank you. As for the temperature, it makes a pleasant change to the heat outside, but of course that may change."

Tayend nodded. "Good. I'll go fetch a light and be right back."

"Don't trouble yourself," Akkarin replied, then his gaze shifted away, so it appeared that he wasn't looking at anything at all. A moment later, a spark flashed into existence, and then grew into a ball-shape that filled the room with a dim light. The ball then separated into two smaller balls, which did the same thing. Then all four balls grew until the entire was lit pleasantly. Tayend felt colour rise in his cheeks- of all the things to forget about magicians, the fact that they can use magic was probably the stupidest. Suddenly he wanted to get a way for a time.

"Right, well I will go and have a look for these books, my Lord," he said, gesturing to the note Akkarin had given him earlier that was still clutched in his hand. "Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"

"No, thank you, Tayend. Take your time- I already have one text to occupy me."

Akkarin waved the book in his hand, the same one he had been perusing when Tayend had first seen him earlier. As Tayend left, he took one last glance into the room. He saw Akkarin seating himself carefully at the table, reaching for the paper tray.

He considered the magician carefully as he once again made his way through the library's familiar maze. He was polite, even by Guild standards, and didn't fit the stuffy, taciturn stereotype that Elynes liked to spread about Kyralians. Whilst Tayend had always had a deep respect for magicians, knowing more than the average person what skills they had and the power they controlled, he realised he liked this one more than the rest already. After all, he had been civil, even when Tayend had suggested he _wasn't like other men his age. _That gave him a small spark of hope- maybe there were people out there, even if they were in other countries and spoke in different tongues, that would be far more accepting of who he was.

And finally, as he walked away, Tayend allowed himself the thought he hadn't yet let cross his mind.

_He's sensational. _


	4. Higher Powers

Chapter Four: Higher Powers

Akkarin was impressed by Lonmar, but that might have been due to its completely opposing culture to the one he knew more of, rather than an appreciation for the simplicity for its pale marble buildings and fastidious nature. He may not agree with everything the Lonmars believed- indeed, he probably agreed very little with it, but it was impossible to deny that they stood by their beliefs. Say what you like about the Lonmar religion, but they were at least consistent in their beliefs. The soul is sacred, and therefore anything that can damage it is a crime. The marriage bed is sacred, and therefore anything that tarnishes it is a crime. This may seem harsh to the outsider, but to the Lonmar people, the answer was simple- don't want to punished? Don't commit the crime. Simple.

As Akkarin had grown older, he had become increasingly irritated at the hypocrisy in Kyralian society. All life has equal value, unless that life is not like our own. All crime is wrong, unless the person committing the crime is one of us. In Lonmar, the rules applies to everyone equally, irrespective of class. There was something surprisingly refreshing about that. Lonmar had been quite the education so far- Akkarin had realised quickly why many magicians ran home to the safety of the Guild after venturing there. But for him, it was nectar. It was balm. It was different.

The carriage finally drew to a stop. Akkarin glanced out the window and drew in a deep breath. He was glad he was alone to favour this moment.

The Splendid Temple certainly lived up to its name.

After a pause of only a few seconds, the door to the carriage was opened by the driver and Akkarin was able to step out and gaze at the building with a greater view. Whilst in no way grand or in any way superior to the other buildings, there was something splendid in its simplicity. The pure white of the marble gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, and the unblemished, unadulterated tiles of the floor gave only the gentlest of pats as Akkarin strode across them to the Temple's entrance. In short, the building made even the simplest of mansions in Imardin look ostentatious, and the bright colours of Capia positively garish. They showed the truth of that oft-used phrase: _there is no need to guild the lily. _

As he made his way up the shallow steps to the open entrance, a man with the familiar mahogany skin of the Lonmar came to meet him. His hair was grey, whitening at the temples, a testament to the many years he had served his religion. His robes were similar to Akkarin's own, except being as white as the stonework around them and cut in a much simpler style. Suddenly, for the first time ever since donning his robes, even as a novice, Akkarin felt over-dressed.

The man gave a gentle bow. "Welcome, Lord Akkarin. I am High Priest Kassyk of the Splendid Temple."

Akkarin bowed to the man in return. "Thank you, High Priest Kassyk. I am grateful for you allowing my visit."

Kassyk's lips twitched up into a smile. From the look of him, he seemed the kind of man who didn't smile a lot. His solemn dark eyes studied Akkarin with an unhidden interest. "Well, it is not often we get a chance to see non-Lonmar magicians here. To be perfectly frank, we are as interested in you as you are in us."

Akkarin smiled at that. He hadn't expected such a hospitable welcome. "Well I am happy to answer any questions you may have on our culture."

"You may regret saying that. But come, let me show you the temple.".

"Of course, I could be honoured," Akkarin replied. Kassyk gestured for Akkarin to follow him, and together they made their way inside the temple. The drop in temperature as they came under the heavy roof was immediate and considerable, and Akkarin could not help but be pleased. He wasn't someone who melted as the smallest amount of sun, but the Lonmar climate was definitely taking some getting used to.

"Your letter stated you believe some texts may reside here that may be of use to you in the writing of your book," Kassyk said. "What is it exactly you are writing about?"

"Indeed. I am writing a book on ancient magical practices." Akkarin made himself focus on the conversation at hand, but it was difficult when he was also trying to admire the beauty of this place. He never knew that such simplicity could hold such charm for him. The long straight corridors, with no paintings or statues, and the simple courtyards with nothing but a simple lawn decorating them, could have made the place seem desolate. But there was an atmosphere here- a calmness he had never experienced before, not even in the Great Library.

Kassyk nodded slowly. "Ah, well many of our texts would be able to answer that, but copies of a lot of them can be found in the Great Library, where I gather you have already been. So, you must be here to view one of our rarer items?"

"I believe so. The text I believe would be of use to me is called the Dorgon Scrolls."

Suddenly, Kassyk stopped walking. He looked at Akkarin warily. Akkarin had to force himself to keep his gaze on the man.

"You weren't even supposed to know that those texts existed," the high priest said eventually, a note of concern in his voice.

"Oh, I see." Akkarin wasn't sure what else to say.

"We decided long ago that no one outside of the faith is to read them. They contain much about the history of our religion that could be…damaging, if it fell into the wrong hands."

Akkarin chastised himself for not having taken a softer approach to this conversation, he should have known something like this would occur. He had no intention of insulting the faith, so tried to placate the man. "I assure you, my interest is purely academic. I have not come here to show disrespect to your beliefs."

Kassyk's facial expression softened slightly. "Oh, I never believed you did, my Lord. I do want to help you if I can. But I do have to ask, will anyone else from the Guild want this information? I don't want to let you read it, you go home to your colleagues and have them all running here from across the Allied Lands."

Akkarin shook his head. "No, as far as I am aware no one else is interested in this subject matter. In my book I will make as little reference to where I found this information as possible. Would that suit you?"

Kassyk was quiet as he considered. "It would," he said eventually. He then sighed and scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Then I just have one more question for you, Lord Akkarin."

"Of course."

Kassyk looked him squarely in the eyes, a solemn expression on his face. "Do you have faith?"

"If you're asking whether I subscribe to your religion, High Priest, I must be honest—"

Kassyk cut him off with a wave of his hand. "No, no that's not what I meant. I didn't ask if you had _a _faith. I asked do you have _faith? _Do you believe in something higher, bigger than yourself? That there are powers in this world that we mere men have no control over?"

It was Akkarin's turn to pause and consider. When he had walked in to the temple, he had never expected, perhaps stupidly looking back, that he would be questioned as to his own beliefs. "I…I don't know. The concept of religion, of faith, is alien to me. It is not something I was brought up with, it is not something I have ever been encouraged to think about."

Kassyk raised his eyebrows at him. "Come now, Akkarin. You are a grown man, not a child. You can no longer hide behind the faults of others to excuse the gaps in your knowledge. Let me put it to you another way- are you open to the existence of a higher power? Would you ever allow yourself to have faith?"

Akkarin gave himself time to think this over. Why was the man asking this? Kassyk had already pushed aside a reference to his own religion in his conversation, so it was clear he wasn't trying to get a new convert. No, this went deeper. This went into whether Akkarin understood the deeper concept of religion. "Yes. Yes I suppose I am. If I was given a sign that such a being existed, I would open myself up to it."

Kassyk smiled knowingly. "Ah, but then it wouldn't be faith. Faith is a leap into the unknown, Akkarin. Some men would call that stupid, others call it the greatest act of bravery known to mankind. It is not something you are born with, either, it is something that you cultivate. Like any relationship it needs work, commitment and, above all, trust. If I show you these texts, will you do them the service of allowing yourself to be open for faith to grow?"

"Yes. I would be open to that."

"Very well. Then all that is left for me to ask is that you handle our treasures carefully. Come, follow me."

Kassyk lead the way to the opposite side of the temple, to a room that appeared to be as far away from the entrance as possible. Akkarin supposed that if this was where the priests kept their most secret texts, they would want it as far away from potentially prying visitors as possible.

The room was dark when they entered. Akkarin was about to create a habitual globe light, but held himself back- he remembered being told that the priests considered magic to be unholy, and therefore it was not to be used on sacred ground such as this. Instead, he waited patiently as Kassyk lit a series of candles around the room. As he did so, a series of glass panels on the walls came into sight, running down the entire length of the long room. Moving closer, Akkarin could see that papers were pressed between the glass and the wall, allowing the texts to be held up, displaying their beautiful calligraphy. There were paintings accompanying the texts too, depicting scenes Akkarin wouldn't have been able to identify if he tried. Kassyk walked slowly down the room, until he came to a section of the wall that held much larger manuscripts than the other texts that decorated the walls. They were covered in neat, but small, handwriting. The edges of the paper were decorated with gold leaf, the only decoration Akkarin had seen in this entire place.

"These are the Dorgon scrolls," Kassyk said softly. "These are not the originals, as those are preserved to protect them against the heat and light, but these are identical copies. I will read from them and translate. But first, you must swear on the honour of your Family, House and Guild in their presence that you will not reveal their contents to anyone, until I release you or death take you from such an oath."

Akkarin held back a smile at the severity of such an oath, as clearly Kassyk felt it necessary. "I solemnly swear so to do," he said.

Kassyk gave him once last calculating glance, then returned his gaze to texts in from of them. "Now, to begin, Dorgon was the son of Forgon, and was born in the second age of the Red Sun…"

For the next hour, Akkarin was silent as Kassyk talked. As he made his way down the scrolls, there were far more than Akkarin had realised from his discovery of them in the Great Library, he told the story of a man who, to the outsider, didn't appear to be the great man of faith that the faithful of Lonmar would have them believe. He was cunning, using the religion for his own ends. But Akkarin tried to put aside such thoughts as he listened, trying to focus on the specific reason he was here- to understand more about how magic use developed at the time of Dorgon's mission, and what that might say about how magic was different all those centuries ago.

But then, as Kassyk finally finished with a sigh, he realised there had been absolutely nothing in those pages that was of any interest to him.

So Akkarin laughed. What started as a gentle chuckle under his breath grew into fully grown peels of amusement, bouncing off the marble walls. He put a hand to his chest and could feel the strength of his laughter vibrating against his fingers.

Kassyk watched on with interest. "May I ask what amuses you, my Lord?"

Akkarin realised he may be coming off as rude, as so started to pull himself together.

"Forgive me, High Priest, I am certainly not laughing at I have heard, or at you, it's just…It appears I have travelled all this way for nothing."

Kassyk nodded sympathetically. "I thought that would be the case. But I also thought that you wouldn't have believed me if I told you that, and would have insisted on hearing them to make that judgement for yourself."

"And I very much appreciate you doing so, High Priest Kassyk."

"Still, I am sorry that this trip has not been of more help to you. Though I hope you have enjoyed visiting Lonmar."

"Indeed I have, it has been the most interesting part of my journey so far."

"Perhaps I could show you more of the Temple, unless you have somewhere else you need to be?"

"Not at all. I would be most interested in seeing more of this beautiful place."

Once all of the candles had been extinguished, Kassyk led Akkarin out of the darkened room and into the bright corridors

"The entrance that you came through is actually the newest part of the Temple. The original entrance was severely damaged in what is known here as The Great Quake, which occurred just over two hundred years ago," Kassyk began. "It has always been a mystery why only that section of the Temple was destroyed, but who are we mere mortals to question the will of the Gods? The further you go into the Temple, the further you travel back in time…"

Akkarin once again found himself listening to the man's mesmerising voice. He certainly had a talent for narrative. He wondered if he would have paid more attention in his history classes at the University if they had been taught by someone like this- not old Solend, who had the strange ability to make every single historical event as interesting as watching paint dry. As they talked, Kassyk would ask the occasional question about Kyralia and its traditions and beliefs. There were a couple of questions about the Guild, but the man seemed to be far more interested in Akkarin's country of origin than his occupation.

When the sun was almost touching the horizon, a gong rang out across the Temple, echoing pleasantly across the many stone surfaces.

"That is the gong to mark that our evening prayers will commence shortly. I am afraid I must say goodbye to you know, my Lord, as non-believers are not allowed in here whilst we are at Contemplation. I hope you understand."

"Yes, of course."

"We are not far from the Entrance, I will return you to the custody of your driver."

"Thank you."

Kassyk had indeed spoken truthfully- in only a couple of minutes, they found themselves descending the great steps down to where Akkarin's carriage waited.

Akkarin turned to the priest and bowed. "Thank you for your time this afternoon, High Priest Kassyk. Whilst I did not find what I was looking for, I certainly feel like I have learnt a lot whilst being here."

Kassyk smiled and nodded politely. "I am glad to here it, Lord Akkarin. It has been a pleasure talking to you. I wish you luck with the rest of your travels- and your research, of course."

Akkarin smiled and bowed to the man, then started down the shallow steps.

"Oh, and Lord Akkarin?"

He turned and looked up Kassyk. The man had a knowing smile on his face, and a slight twinkle in his eye. "Do remember what I said, Akkarin. Spend time contemplating the world. Ask yourself the question- is this really all there is? Most magicians think too highly of themselves to allow for the possibility that there may be something in the universe that is greater than themselves. Perhaps you will be the exception to the rule."

Akkarin found himself nodding. "I will consider your words, High Priest. Thank you once again."

Kassyk inclined his head, turned and started to walk back towards the temple. Akkarin watched him until he disappeared into the darkness of the great sept, then turned to the carriage driver.

"Back to the Guild house, if you would be so kind."

"Of course, my Lord," the driver replied.

Akkarin pulled himself into the carriage, swung the door shut and rapped on the roof to let the driver know he was ready to depart. As they started moving, Akkarin caught once last look of the beautiful building. Inside its walls, he had not found what he had expected, sought desperately to find. But what had he found? Not faith, of course, but…something akin to it. An understanding that there may be more to the world than the simple acts of men. And whilst Akkarin didn't think that an anthropomorphised deity was the answer to that, perhaps there were higher powers at work. That he had always supposed to arrive, by some strange, beautiful, curious, exquisite happenstance, right… here.

At any rate, it was enough of a subject to keep him occupied for the long trip back into the city.

**I may have let my philosophy classes sneak into this one a little bit **


	5. The Chamber

Chapter Five: The Chamber

The climb was steep and hot, and wasn't helped by the ever-thinning air one had to learn to cope with as the altitude increased. As Akkarin Healed away some of the weariness in his muscles and the headache that was starting to form behind his eyes, he hoped that this trip wouldn't be as useless to his research as his entire trip to Lonmar had been, and would be worth the pain he was putting his body through. Still, Armje was in the heart of rural Elyne, and it would only take a few days' ride to make it back to the relative comfort of the Guildhouse, compared to the weeks of sailing it had taken him to visit the Splendid Temple. Whilst the Lonmar Guildhouse had been comfortable and the servant polite, it wasn't exactly the pleasant atmosphere of the Elyne equivalent. And the lack of alcohol has soon gone from amusing to irritating. The physical exertion involved in this leg of the trip, however, was far more taxing. Akkarin allowed himself a brief pause, and looked down at the view that spread out before him.

Elyne was truly beautiful, once one was away from the bright colours and loud people of the cities. The mountains, whilst not the great peaks that could be found in other countries, set pleasing boundaries that rolled leisurely across the land. The humidity meant that luscious greenery was able to grow much higher here than in Lonmar, where the land became barren at only a few hundred feet above sea level. Shading his eyes from the sun with a hand and looking down into valley from whence he had come, Akkarin thought he could make out the two horses and guide he had left behind. The man had seemed anxious by the thought of the climb and, whilst Akkarin couldn't see why, he had decided to leave the man be and give him the task of keeping an eye on the horses whilst he made the final ascent alone, rather than having to be patient with the man's jitters. Considering the Elyne's love of flamboyantly styled architecture and landscapes, Akkarin was slightly saddened by the fact that the Elynes felt such a strong desire to adulterate their land when, in reality, there was no need. Still, he supposed it was their prerogative, and not his opinion to give. After all, there is nothing ruder than a house guest who criticises how you have chosen to decorate your home.

After allowing himself a few deep breaths, he continued his ascent, trying to keep up a reasonable pace- after all, he needed to get there and back before sunset. Other magicians may have been tempted to levitate their way to the summit, but Akkarin wasn't. He was one of a minority of magicians who believed that physical wellbeing was just as important as magical. And considering the effects of lack of exercise, demonstrated well the current size of the second Guild Ambassador to Elyne, he was glad to have such a belief. Besides, the climb gave him a chance to think without having to concentrate on the flow of magic. As it did regularly, his mind sorted through his journey so far.

He was half-way through his scheduled time away from the Guild, and still had precious little to show for it. Whilst the research that he had completed with Tayend, who had been nothing less than an absolute gift, had led him across the Allied Lands, from the Splendid Temple to the Tombs of White Tears, he had only learnt one small thing that had been previously unknown. In the past, magicians made use of a specific form of magic known to them as "Higher Magic". This appeared to have no link with the title "Higher Magician" used by the modern day Guild. Indeed, it was still unclear to him exactly what this Higher Magic did, but it seemed to have something to do with the fact that the magics of ancient times were much stronger than the average magician now. Perhaps this magic had a way of increasing its own size when used. Perhaps the magicians had a way of storing magic, rather than simply having to use what they had. Or maybe he was chasing shadows of history and this entire trip had been a pointless exercise.

With not a little relief, he reached the summit of the mountain, the highest point in Eastern Elyne. The sight that greeted him was impressive- an ancient settlement in ruins. Though the walls of the buildings were now nearly non-existent, some only standing at less than a foot in height, it was still very possible to see what would have been the layout of this place. Many buildings made up the space, though it wasn't possible to say how many due to their ruined state, all moved in concentric circles towards a single central point. It reminded Akkarin of a very small version of how the city of Imardin had first been planned- but, of course, that plan had been somewhat altered now that the slums had built up around the city walls. He wondered if something similar had ever happened here.

Steady breathing once again returning to him, Akkarin allowed himself to slowly wander around the broken buildings, imagining what it may have been like when alive. His mind filled the place with people, making the place a jostling, busy place on the move, rather than a monument to days gone by. As he illustrated the city with modern looking Elynes, he had to remind himself of the age of this place- Armje hadn't been a thriving city for over a thousand years. Compared to the vast majority of cities across the Allied Lands, this place was old even before they had been considered, and was therefore unlikely to be anything like modern-day Capia. The Guild, as it was organised today, was only half its age. Of all the man-made places he had visited during his travels, this was by far the oldest. He hoped, therefore, it may be able to give him answers that the other, newer, places did, where their age meant that there was an assumption that certain knowledge had already been obtained.

At what appeared to be the centre of the site was a structure that had managed to stay relatively untouched. Akkarin assumed it was it was a pillar of stone, a monument to a deity of some kind, but as he approached he realised it was a building. By modern standards, it wasn't very tall, not even reaching the heights of a typical Kyralian house, but Tayend had mentioned that buildings were smaller in ancient Elyne, due to more rudimentary building abilities, and smaller people. Akkarin thought the building a strange curiousity- how it managed to survive when the rest of this place lay in ruins around it? Had it been kept that way by man…or was there something else at play here? If that thing was magical, it must be using ancient magical properties. Excited by that prospect, Akkarin dropped his pack down and moved to the entrance of the building.

A large curved archway led into darkness. Intrigued, Akkarin slowly entered the space, giving his eyes time to adjust. When he still wasn't able to see clearly enough for his purposes, he made a faint globe light and sent it ahead of him. When the darkness was still too deep to make anything out, he slowly brightened the globe light. It presented before him a single circular room with a spectacular high dome. The dome was adorned in silver gemstones that glittered in the new light. The light refracted off the walls, creating a kaleidoscope of colours at Akkarin's feet as he slowly walked forward. From the simple exterior of the building, a passing visitor would have no idea such a bejewelled interior was to be found here- but maybe that was the point.

Akkarin realised, as he walked slowly forward, that the narrow pathway he walked upon dropped away steeply, leaving a steep precipice on each side of him, its depths incalculable to him. Though not a man who generally experienced vertigo, Akkarin felt his head spin slightly as he thought about what would happen with one misplaced step- falling into darkness with no end in sight was probably not his chosen way to go. But then again, he reminded himself, he had magic. If he fell, he could simply levitate himself to safety. That thought didn't answer the larger question gathering in his mind, however.

_What exactly is_ _this place?_

If Akkarin had had to guess, he would either had thought believed this to be a place of worship or the home of a sovereign. As far as he was aware, the ancient Elynes had had no organised religions, and so the latter seemed far more likely. But even then, the Elynes of old didn't care for great monuments to individual people, Tayend had told him. Their statues and pieces of art were designed to pay homage to greater things- the natural world, the changing seasons or the like.

Akkarin didn't had much more time to ponder this, however, as he felt the atmosphere inside the strange domed room…change. Like when you have to tell a friend news that they don't want to hear.

A sudden flash of light from above caught his eye. Looking up, Akkarin saw the very apex of the dome suddenly get brighter. He realised it was no longer simply reflecting the light from his globe light, it had become luminous on its own- but how was it able to do that? Were the walls embedded with some kind of energy? _Magical _energy? He watched, fascinated, as the light then moved down the dome in a strange sort of wave, in a similar way that the shield around the Arena would ripple when hit with a strong force. As the wave got closer, he was able to sense the pull of magic from somewhere around him. His years of fights in the Arena treated him well as he instinctively pulled up a shield, saving himself just in time from a force strike so strong it would have knocked him off the narrow pathway into the darkness. He was stunned for a moment- where had a force of this strength come from?!

Weighing up his options, he decided there was nothing inside the building worth staying even another minute for- a good warrior always knows when to admit defeat, after all. Perhaps there was something in here that the ancient Elynes hadn't wanted to be disturbed by other magicians. The globe light had somehow alerted the building to his presence, and the strike was a deterrent. Never mind, there were still other buildings to look at. It is important to note at this point that Akkarin only thought of the building as a curiosity, and no more than that.

Disappointed but as yet unconcerned, Akkarin turned to make his exit- only to discover a strong shield was covering the arched doorway into the room. It was then he realised there was no escape. And, as it appeared that there was no person bending the magic to their will causing this all to happen, perhaps this building was more than just a curiosity.

_So, a building wants to kill me. This is a new one. _

Trying to remain calm, even as another force strike headed down the dome in his direction, he thought through his options. As much as it irritated him to think it, he forced himself to consider what Balkan would say.

_Before you do anything, assess the strengths of your adversary. If you don't know how strong he is, how can you come up with an appropriate strategy to defeat him? _Akkarin had no idea how much power this building had, so he had to assume that it was stronger than him.

_Next, consider his weaknesses. Consider all and any methods to break through his defences. _Seeing as there was no magician around causing this to happen, there was no way of stopping it.

_Finally, consider what your ultimate goal is. Do you want to kill this person, or simply stop them? If it is a magician, do you want to destroy them or just their shield. This will depend greatly on the adversary you face, and the severity of your situation. _Akkarin had to destroy the shield, that much was obvious. If he had been in a bout in the Arena, he would have waited until his adversary was at his most occupied, the moment they drew on magic and designed a pattern of strikes in their minds, to attack the shield at full strength, but he somehow doubted that the building would be tricked in such a way. The second option he had was to attack the source of the shield directly- but it was unclear where exactly this magic was coming from, except that the force strikes were coming from the roof. They were still battering him with an intensity he had never experienced in a magical battle before. For the first time since becoming a magician, he suddenly doubted his strength. That was enough to make him angry- how _dare _this place make him doubt his own abilities before.

_My last advice to you all- there is, in the vast majority of cases, always a solution to the problem. You just need to be able to use your imagination. _Akkarin realised then he only really had one choice, which was to use all the magical strength he had left in one vicious attack, combining the two ideas that he had had previously. He waited until he saw the start of the tell-tale sign of the twinkle of lights above him, and attacked. He sent two strong strikes out, one at the rooftop, one at the ceiling. He had never had to use strikes of such strength before. For the briefest of heartbeats, so brief a novice could easily have missed it, the shield flickered. But it was just enough of a window, as Akkarin dove forward and was able to push himself through- the shield was strong enough that he could feel the burn of it on his skin, but weak enough to push through it with help from his own magical shield, which received a final pummelling from a force strike. It was an ungracious, inelegant way of winning in a battle, but at that moment, Akkarin couldn't care less. He had survived.

He found himself sprawled on the ground, breathing heavily, staring up at the deep blue Elyne sky. He managed to haul himself to his feet, using the wall to support himself as his head span. He still had a little magical energy left. He used a little to heal himself and started to feel more human. He considered how weak he was- he had never used up so much strength before. Not even when he was his last year in the university, and the Warrior Skills classes could become ferocious. He now knew how his peers had felt, and why they had envied him so much for having double their strength. This feeling was, put simply, _dreadful. _It was like being hungover, but none of the enjoyment of the night before to look back on.

He looked upon the stone archway once more. Now, as he looked closer than he had before, he saw the carvings of an ancient language. He couldn't translate them now, but perhaps Tayend could. He looked around for his pack, which he had left by the entrance. He went to pull it towards him with magic, but realised he didn't have the strength even to do that. He cursed quietly and walked gingerly over to it, still feeling slightly faint. He picked the pack up and dropped it onto one of the walls that stood at his chest height. First he found his water skin, and downed the majority of the contents. He then found a pen and notebook and quickly sketched out the ancient words as precisely as he could, though the lettering was unfamiliar and worn away. Hopefully his version would be clear enough for Tayend to decipher if Akkarin could find the chance to write to him. Satisfied with his copy, he dropped the book back into the back and sighed.

What to do now? He couldn't just leave here without another thought, at least not in good conscience. No one else should be allowed to come in here, that was clear. He would have to tell the Guild about this. He made a mental note to include a warning about this place in his next letter to Balkan. But that wouldn't be enough. He alone wouldn't be allowed to ban Guild magicians from entering this place, only the High Lord could do that, but he could warn them.

Pulling the last of his remaining magic to his will, he used it to carve a message into the stone.

_Magicians, beware! _he wrote. _This Chamber contains a strong magical force which you should not try to battle. Danger of death ahead to all who enter this place. _Then he wrote his name as clearly as he could, hoping that it would be enough to ward off any other arrogant young men like himself that thought they could take on such a force.

Taking a steadying breath, he picked up his pack, hauled it on and, with one last look at the carved entrance he now wished he had never entered, started the long trip back down the mountain.

Just before leaving the Guild, at his last Night Room gathering, a former Ambassador had told him that most journeys will involve a challenge or frightening moment, and therefore not to be too concerned when it did predictably happen. As he made the steep descent, Akkarin assumed that he had just has his. Now he could relax.

**There's gonna be a bit of a bigger gap between this chapter and the next…which is okay, because this is kind of the end of Part 1 of this story! I am trying to organise moving 350 miles up country, so everything's a bit crazy! But I will be back. As ever, thank you for all your love and encouragement… Love, Cece xox**


	6. The Mistake of His Life

Chapter Six: The Mistake of His Life

Akkarin had never been very good at doing what he was told. He would freely admit that. Before he began his studies at the university, mother had despaired of him, his nurses had glared at him, and all the while his sisters had egged him on- which he only realised many years later was so that they stayed out of the target of the adults' anger.

But even though he had never been good at doing what he was told, he had never broken the rules quite as badly as he was doing so now. He felt a twinge at the back of his mind where he assumed his conscience resided, as he stood on the edge of the great plain, the border between Elyne and Sachaka, heading straight into the Sachakan Wastes.

He knew the reasons why he had been denied official access to the country by the Administrator. No one was quite sure what was going on in Sachaka these days. It had been many decades since diplomatic relationships between the country and the Allied Lands had dried up. Traders and merchants occasionally came back with news- they told of a savage King with a wild temper and a dictatorial hold over Arvice, the Capital. Whilst that sounded bad enough that the Guild wanted to avoid wading in, it was the lack of information that the traders could lean about Sachaka's use of magic that most concerned them. There was nothing to suggest that there were still magicians in the country- but also nothing to suggest that the ability had disappeared. They refused to discuss anything to do with magic in front of foreigners, as if wanting to keep their knowledge a secret.

But Akkarin wasn't going to Arvice- not yet, at least. His plan to enter through the Wastes, scout out smaller towns and villages first to gauge their reaction to him seemed a good one to him. He may even be able to find out what the modern Sachakans knew about magic, and also their use of magic in ages past, which may assuage some of the anger the High Lord, Administrator and Balkan would have when they discovered his insubordination.

And, after all, he had worked out long ago it was far better to seek forgiveness than permission. When he got back to the Guild, and Balkan discovered his disobedience, he would act contrite and take whatever punishment was owed. But for now, he was going to ignore the orders he had been given. He took a deep breath and took a step forward. He was now standing on Sachakan soil, the first Guild magician to do so in five hundred years. The moment was surprisingly anti-climatic.

Adjusting his pack slightly on his back, he began what he knew was going to be a long walk. He hadn't been able to take a horse, as he would have had to admit where he was going. If he did that, word would have got back to the Guild far quicker of his disobedience than he intended it to. For now, he had been able to persuade the Elyne Ambassador he wanted to go back to the mountains for private reflection and study with one of the monasteries. That alibi would hopefully work for long enough for him to get the information he needed from Sachaka.

Not that the Wastes would be able to tell him anything useful. However, being so flat and plain, they allowed him to see great distances, far greater distances than one could see in Kyralia or Elyne. Shading his eyes against the setting sun, he looked to the horizon. It was then he saw a thin trail of smoke. Like an intrigued child, he walked towards it. Eventually, a campsite came into view. As he approached- cautiously, Akkarin was no fool, the details of the place came into view. Tents that might once have once been bold in colour flapped in the evening wind, their hues probably faded by the strong desert sun. A large fire crackled in the centre of the site, a large pot hanging above it on a wooden stand. To the outsider, it appeared to be like the campsite of a normal travelling group of merchants or nomadic group. Akkarin would find out soon enough- that was the whole point.

It was only then that he first caught sight of a person. A figure came out of one of the tents and caught the movement of Akkarin moving towards the tents. A woman, dressed in what once might have appeared to be gold material, stopped in her tracks as their eyes met. Her eyes widened, and she took in the sight of him with a frightened confusion. It took a deep breath as he took her in- she was astonishingly beautiful, despite the rags she wore. Her face, whilst drawn, was angular, and the olive complexion of her skin complemented her dark hair perfectly. Her golden eyes were almost feline in shape, giving her a poised visage, despite her obvious discomfort in this moment. He forced himself to return her gaze levelly, but decided to stop walking, not wanting to look like he was attempting a siege on this woman's home.

"Greetings," he said, hoping he sounded pleasant and non-threatening. "I am a Magician of the Guild in Kyralia. Would it be possible to speak to the person who runs this site?"

She carried on staring at him as if he was about to eat her.

"Please, don't be afraid. I come in peace."

The fear in eyes softened slightly, but she still looked painfully anxious. Her gaze left his and searched around. Finally they caught on something and she called softly. A young man headed away from them turned and looked at the woman expectantly, only glancing briefly over at Akkarin. She spoke quickly in a language Akkarin didn't understand, but she gestured to him, with a quick, birdlike motion of her head. The man frowned deeply, and turned to look at Akkarin more intensely. He replied to the woman, appearing to ask a question from the rising inflection in his voice. She nodded and answered briefly. She seemed desperate to get away from the situation. The man stood and thought for a minute, staring at the sandy ground at his feet, the sighed and turned to Akkarin.

"You- me you must follow, yes?"

"Yes," Akkarin replied. "Thank you."

The man gestured to the largest tent in the middle of the site and started toward it at a rapid pace. Akkarin smiled at the woman, hoping to express his gratitude silently, but received not such response in return. As he walked away, he felt her eyes boring into his back, sending a nasty chill down his spine.

He and his guide quickly made their way to the central tent. The man gestured for him to stop, then quickly vanished inside the darkness of the canvas. Akkarin assumed he needed to wait to be introduced before entering the tent. He heard words murmured in the same unfamiliar language been spoken, then, strangely, a slap. The sound of flesh striking flesh. Then the entrance flapped rustled, and a man, a different one to his guide, but wearing the same clothing, stepped outside.

"Come," he said with a surprisingly deep voice.

Akkarin nodded and stepped inside. It was dark inside, the flicker of a handful of candles lit the space, and reflecting against the canvas gave the interior a strange red light. There were a dozen or so people inside the tent, the vast majority of whom were sat on the floor. They said nothing, did nothing. They didn't really look at him, just gave him cursory wary glances when they allowed their eyes to drift up from the floor. Their behaviour created a terrible atmosphere, like a suffocating smoke. He looked for the man who had shown him to the tent, but he was nowhere to be seen. Something very, very odd was going on here.

He followed his second guide to other end of the tent. There, sat a man on the only chair in the entire tent. On either side of him sat two women, wearing similar garb to what the woman Akkarin had seen outside had been wearing. They didn't look as frightened as she did, however- a calm composure covered their features, but it was an obviously forced expression. Akkarin was no fool- he knew what the role of these women was, in all probability. But he also knew that, in cultures outside of his own, the idea of a man keeping concubines or having multiple wives was not uncommon. He wasn't about to insult the man by making his distain for treating these women thusly.

He was richly dressed, expensive materials swathed around him, and gold jewellery covered his chest, fingers and arms. He didn't watch as they approached. He had a lock of one of the women's hair between his fingers and was slowly stroking it, observing it like he had never seen human hair before. Finally, as Akkarin and his guide were about to stop in front of the chair, the man's head immediately snapped up. For a split second, his expression was one of ravenous desperation. Then almost immediately, his face softened into one of interest.

"Greetings, wanderer. What is your name?" Clearly Sachakans didn't go in for niceties.

"Akkarin," he replied simply, bowing his head slightly. He decided to withhold the fact that he was a magician- for now, at least. Until he had decided whether this man could be trusted. "And you?"

"Dakova. And where are you from, Akkarin? Certainly not round here from the look of you."

He had hoped to put off that question for some time yet, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to lie effectively. So he decided to dodge. "No, indeed I am not- I am from the Allied Lands."

"Which one?" The question immediately came.

Akkarin cursed inwardly. "Kyralia," he replied. He thought he heard several deep intakes of breath.

A shadow came over Dakova's face. "Kyralia?" he said, rolling the word over in his mouth as he absentmindedly stroked the cheek of the woman whose hair he was holding. "It has been many years since I have met a Kyralian… I can't remember the last time, in fact."

"Well, I suppose our countries do not have the greatest history. But of course, I come in the spirit of peace and goodwill."

Akkarin hoped Dakova would say something similar in return, but he did not. He even thought he caught the slightest of smirks cross the man's face, but decided he had imagined it. "Well, you have come far. You must be tired. Here- let me offer you some refreshment."

He clicked his fingers at the man who had brought Akkarin to the end. The man bowed low, and dashed away. He soon returned with a flask of wine and two glasses. He poured and offered the first to Dakova, and the second to Akkarin.

"Thank you," Akkarin said as he took the proffered glass. The man's face clouded over with confusion, and he frowned as he bowed and stepped away.

Dakova took a deep draught from his glass before handing the glass to the second woman beside him and continuing. "So, what brings you here, to my home, Kyralian?"

Akkarin had practiced for this question. "I am a researcher. I am hoping that Sachaka may be able to answer some of my final questions, ones I have not being able to answer within the Allied Lands."

Dakova chuckled. "How unusual- a Kyralian researcher who just…wanders into Sachaka with questions he wants answering. Tell me, what are some of these…questions?"

"Well, I am interested in ancient magical practices. It's clear the magic used by the Guild in Kyralia, say, seven hundred years or so ago was quite different to how it is used now. I want to know why."

Looking back on that moment, many years later, Akkarin realised it was this moment around which his entire life hung. Those three sentences explaining why he was here- they were the mistake of his life. Because it led Dakova to pause in his action to retrieve his wine glass, look him squarely in the eye and say the next six words in a quiet voice.

"And you, yourself are…a magician?"

Akkarin realised his plan had completely failed. He felt a twinge of apprehension- how would Dakova take this news. "Yes."

"A _Guild _Magician?"

Akkarin gestured at his robes, a wry smile played on his lips, trying to keep the conversation light. "Guilty as charged. All magicians from the Allied Lands are Guild magicians."

A soft murmur went around the group. Akkarin looked around the faces, trying to guess what they were thinking. For these completely silent, strangely composed people to make a sound, he must have truly surprised them. When he looked back at their leader, an expression had come over the man's face he could not identify.

"How very interesting," he said. He gaze flickered away, focusing on nothing. If he had been a magician, Akkarin might have thought he was having a magical conversation with another magician- but turning his mind outward, he could not hear anything.

"As I said before, I come in good faith. I only wish to make use of information you have which we do not." When Dakova still said nothing, he decided to try and change the course of their conversation. "You have a very impressive site here- it must be home to many people. How long have you been here?"

Dakova was still silent for a tense dozen heartbeats. Then he blinked, look at Akkarin and smiled slightly. "Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. We are somewhat…unwanted. We never stay anywhere for very long."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Where have you come from?"

Dakova spread his hands slightly and pursed his lips. "It would be difficult for me to describe our travels to you by words alone- but perhaps I could show you from the view outside?"

Akkarin thought that a little odd, but decided that Dakova was trying to be polite, and this was his way of doing it. "Of course," he said.

Dakova smile broadened, and he rose from his seat and stepped forward. He was surprisingly short in stature, for a man of such gravitas, but he was broad-shouldered and well-muscled, and Akkarin knew instinctively he wouldn't ever want to cross him- he could be vicious in a fight.

Dakova snapped his fingers at one of the women, and pointed to Akkarin's wine glass. The woman darted forward and took it from him, never meeting his gaze. Now free from their leader's gaze, the fear in both the women's eyes was clear. Dakova gestured for Akkarin to walk before him, and so he did so, heading for the direction of the entrance to the tent he had come through. All eyes watched with tense anticipation.

As he pushed the tent flap aside and took in a deep breath of fresh air, Akkarin enjoy the escape the heavy atmosphere he had just vacated. He had no idea what was going on in this place, and perhaps he didn't want to know, but he thought it was probably best to leave as soon as politely possible. Dakova couldn't hurt him, but that didn't mean Akkarin wanted to witness whatever schemes he had going on here to make his people seemed so…cowed.

He was allowing himself a private moment to enjoy the view of the setting sun across the wastes, deepening the red to a bloody hue, when he felt it. It was the same feeling he experienced at the sudden pull of magic that had occurred in the strange chamber at Armje. As he had then, he instinctively put up a shield before he had ascertained where it was coming from.

A force strike hit him from behind with incredible force, so much so he had to increase the strength of his shield before it broke under the pressure being placed on it. Akkarin turned, looking around for the source…but only saw Dakova standing in front of him, an innocent smile playing on his lips.

"Where on earth did—" But Akkarin didn't get to finish his sentence, as once again the pull of magic was clear in his mind, and even before the strike was let lose, Akkarin knew it was coming from him.

Dakova was a magician. Oh, what a stupid, _stupid _thing to miss. _That's _why he had so many obedient followers.

He put up a stronger shield, and his hands.

"I don't underst—"

Yet another strike, almost hidden behind the last, but just as strong, battered him. He wasn't sure how that was even physically possible.

_Hellfire, he is stronger than any Guild magician I have ever met!_

"Dakova, if I did something to offend—"

But Dakova never said anything- he simply smiled, arms crossed across his chest and sent powerful strike after strike. The strikes weren't particularly imaginative, or even well formed, but they certainly did their job. Akkarin had been the best warrior in his class, had been praised again and again by Balkan and the previous Head of Warriors, but nothing in the Arena could have prepared him for this. It was like preparing for a sword fight with a butter knife. After only a minute or so, Akkarin's shield was failing. He desperately looked for reserved of strength tucked away in the edge of his mind, but found nothing. How had everything gone so wrong in such a short space of time?

As Akkarin's shield finally shattered, and he swayed dangerously on his feet, he assumed he was about to die. And no one knew he was here. His parents, Lorlen, Balkan, they would have no idea what had happened to him. Would they care? How long would they mourn him? Strange priorities to have at such a time, but the mind does curious things when it is scared beyond reason.

But if he was going to die, he certainly wasn't going to go down without a fight. "Well, go on then," he snapped at Dakova. "You've got me, go ahead and finish the job."

Dakova just chuckled menacingly. "If you're saying that, can I assume you're not going to try and escape now, little magician?" He stalked forward, grabbed Akkarin's head and pulled it down so it was more level with his own.

"What are you doing?" Akkarin said, trying desperately to push him off, but to his shame was too weak to surpass Dakova's strong grip.

"I need the answer to some questions." Dakova said. What felt like a sword stabbed into Akkarin's mind, and he couldn't help but cry out in pain. A presence that was clearly Dakova's was in his mind- how had he got there?! Akkarin hadn't let him in! Maybe he was so weak that even his mental barriers had fallen- but no, Balkan had always said it was impossible to enter even the most unwilling mind.

_-You are a Guild magician, yes? _A foreign voice asked. The voice was oddly clear, far clearer than the mental communication that he had had with magicians before.

_-Get out._

The pain intensified to the point that Akkarin's knees buckled and crashed to the hard ground.

_-Resistance is useless, _the voice said. _Answer me. Are you a Guild Magician?_

_-Yes, _Akkarin answered, defeated.

_-Do they know you are here, in Sachaka?_

_-No. _

_-How is this the case?_

_-I disobeyed my orders. I wasn't supposed to come here, so I didn't tell anyone. _

_-Hmm, it is good for me to know now you have an insubordinate streak… _the voice said. What did it mean, _good to know now? _Did this mean Dakova wasn't planning to kill him? Then what was he going to do?!

Then, a thought entered his mind- a memory that was not his own. It wasn't even Dakova's, but a memory _of _Dakova. A man dressed like one of the other travellers was knelt in front of him, his head bowed and a curved knife balanced on his wrists. Dakova took the knife, sliced through the man's skin. He then placed his own hand on the wound, and closed his eyes. Akkarin felt himself recoil in horror at the disturbing scene, but also felt a hint of recognition- the shape of the knife- the half-moon curve of the blade. It had reminded him of the reading he had done on Higher Magic, but he hadn't been able to work out what it was.

-_Have you ever seen magic used like this before?_

_-No! I… what even was that?_

_-That is how proper magicians use magic, my little pet magician. How very interesting... _He was silent for a time. _Show me your power._

_-I don't have any left- you made me use it all, remember? _

He felt a sting on his face and realised he had been slapped. Dakova's mind sharply extracted itself from his own. He heard the man- the magician- speaking in Sachakan in barking tones. A smaller, softer, voice replied, and then the sound of running feet could be heard, disappearing into the distance.

Most of the pain having faded, and feeling less on the brink of collapse, Akkarin opened his eyes, and was disturbed by how close Dakova's face was to his own.

"Why are you doing this?" he managed to gasp out.

Dakova looked away and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Let's call it…_reparations._"

Akkarin was confused- reparations? "Whatever for?"

"Of course. For what your people did to mine. For what your precious _Guild-_" Dakova all but spat the word out, "-did to Sachaka. Look at it, Kyralian. This is what you left behind."

Akkarin tried to struggle out of Dakova's grip, but once again failed. "You're talking about a war that happened half a millennium ago. You can't be seriously considering punishing me for something that neither of us had anything to do with!"

Dakova's nasty smile suddenly dropped. "It may be a long time ago for you, Kyralian, but it doesn't feel that way to us. First lesson you should have learnt about Sachakans before you strode so confidently through our front door- our memories are long- oh, so very long."

_Demons above and below, he's mad, isn't he?_

Akkarin was beginning to understand what was about to happen to him. He was beginning to understand why the woman he had spoken to had looked so frightened. He was beginning to understand who the people were in the tent. And, from his own research, he had an inkling what the memory Dakova had shown him had been of.

No. No. This couldn't happen. No. This was worse than death. Desperate, Akkarin. decided to try at one last attempt to reason with the man. "Look, clearly I made a mistake coming here. Can't we come to some sort of understanding, Dakova? I wo—"

This time it wasn't a slap, it was a punch. As his face met the ground, he tasted the red dust against his lips.

"Call me that again and you will lose more than just your dignity. You may call me _Master_ from now on- for that is what I am. I am a master, and you are a slave." Dakova took a few steps forwards, until he was towering over him. Arms crossed over his chest, an evil curl to his lip.

"Say it, slave."

Akkarin had never been very good at doing what he was told. Until he was enslaved when he was twenty years old. Because, for now, at least, he knew he had no absolutely choice. With shaking hands, he pushed himself up from the dirt, and forced himself to look Dakova in the eye. If he had to say the words, he would say them as proudly, and therefore wrongly, as he possible could.

"I am a slave, and you are my master."

**My friends, I have neglected thee! I am so sorry. Life got in the way. I have officially finished my thesis (can I get a whoop!) and I am all set to move north next week- eek, a new chapter of my life begins! Hope this super long chapter makes up for my absence. I love you. Cece xox**


	7. Treason

Chapter Seven: Treason

"You really fell for it, didn't you?" The voice was feminine and accented, but also, to Akkarin's confusion, familiar voice.

He slowly became aware that he was, once again, sitting upright as he woke from unconsciousness. His hands were tied behind his back, around what he remembered was a large wooden post. The post was also holding up the centre of a small tent, one he hadn't the outside of in…oh, he had lost count a while ago. Drifting in and out of consciousness isn't great for one's sense of time. Only the coming and going of sunlight, strong and hot even through the heavy canvas, told him that time was passing at all.

But authors story tellers should always know more than their charges; and I can tell you, reader, it had been a week.

As Akkarin regained more of a sense of wakefulness, memories then came flooding back to him, a great tidal wave of moments he would happily burn from his mind. With all the strength he could muster, which was pitiful compared to the strength he had had in days gone by, he forced the thoughts to stop, unable to live them again without nausea creeping in.

He remembered then that someone had just spoken. He forced himself to lift his head so he could look up, and saw a woman watching him closely. He recognised her instantly. She was the first woman he had spoken to in the camp. He hadn't seen her since that evening, though a different person- _slave, _he had eventually realised, had been here when he had woken. They had never spoken to him, however, simply looked him over quietly and left, to be replaced soon by Dakova.

"I thought you didn't speak my tongue." His voice- rough and low, sounded alien to him. He hadn't a chance to use it in a long time.

The woman seemed to have to hold herself back from rolling her eyes. "Again, you really did fall for it." Then her gaze softened slightly. "I'm sorry for the part I played in…" she shrugged at their surroundings. "…all this. But you will soon learn that, round here, it's every person for himself…or herself." She straightened then. "Besides, I had no idea you were a Guild magician- how idiotic do you have to be to be a Kyralian magician and just walk into the Wastes?"

If he had had any energy to spare, and any light left in him, he may well have laughed at that comment. "This idiotic, apparently."

The woman offered him a dry smile at that. "I am supposed to inform Dakova of when you wake up so he can bleed you- but he won't suspect anything yet. I woke you early, so if you have any questions, now is your time."

Akkarin frowned at her. "Why would you do that?" He had learnt the lesson far too late, but now he knew to be incredibly cautious around these people. He assumed that everything came at its own price. What would she make such an offer?

"I feel I…owe you, is that the right translation? I do speak your language, but not perfectly." she said, frowning.

Akkarin nodded. "Yes, that sounds right." He considered he offer. "So…What is your name?"

The woman looked at him sharply with intelligent eyes. Beautiful eyes, he found himself thinking, despite the horror of his situation. "Seriously? You only have a few minutes to work out what is happening to you and your first question is about _me_?"

With a flush of embarrassment, Akkarin realised she was right. So he reconsidered- what did he know? Well he _thought _he knew that every morning and night, which Akkarin had guessed from the amount of light, Dakova had come into the tent. He would throw taunts and insults at Akkarin, which he had refused to engage in, simply looking down at the floor. When Dakova had been drinking, he might add in a few punches. Sometimes he would force himself into Akkarin's mind, a process Akkarin still didn't understand, and would ask Akkarin questions about the Guild. Its size, its knowledge, its political strategies- everything. It was lucky that Akkarin was not privy to matters of national security, but apparently he still knew enough to make Dakova chuckle with glee.

But the one thing that never changed was the bleeding- the terrible, awful bleeding. It was very similar to the memory Dakova had shown him the first time he entered his mind. Dakova would unsheathe a knife at his belt. He would make a shallow cut against Akkarin's skin- his arms were completely bare now his Guild robes had been taken from him and having been dressed like most of the other men in the camp- and would place his hand against it. Then Akkarin would feel his magical strength been taken- drained- from him. The first time, he had made the unfortunate decision of trying to fight Dakova off as he did so. That resulted in him being knocked unconscious by a booted foot striking him in the face. The remaining times, Akkarin had stayed still and silent, feeling himself grow weaker and weaker until he could barely hold up his head. Then Dakova, chuckling and swinging the knife between his fingers, would leave. Then Akkarin would sink back into a world between hazy dreams and reality. Sometimes the slaves would come with scraps of food and small glasses of water, just enough to keep him alive, but in a weak state, both physically and magically. In this weakened state, it was difficult for him to work out what he needed to know. He forced himself to think logically. There were some obvious questions.

"Who is Dakova? I thought he was just a travelling merchant or someone of importance in Sachakan society, but…" his head started to spin, so he took a few calming breaths.

The woman nodded, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin upon them. "Yes, that's what he wants you to think. He is a good place to start, actually. He is Ichani." She said the final word with some gravity, and looked at him as if that should clear up his question. When he continued to frown at her, she sighed. "I thought Guild magicians were supposed to be smart. The word _Ichani _literally means _outcast _in our language. The Ichani, the word can mean both one person and many, are a group of Sachakan magicians who have been banned from Arvice- they are outcasts, exiled to an eternity in the Wastes, with no hope of return to civilised society."

"Why?"

The woman shrugged. "Oh, many reasons. Murdering important people, attempting coups, that sort of thing. They hate each other too, you should know. They see each other as…oh, what's the word…ah, rivals. But one thing that have in common in a deep-seated resentment against both the people of Arvice _and _the Guild. Living out here in the Wastes, you can almost see why. They hold the Guild responsible."

Akkarin shook his head slowly. "But…the Guild may have destroyed the land initially, but they didn't do anything for it to remain this way. What has kept it like this?"

The woman spread her hands. "A mystery the Ichani are yet to solve. I thought, being a Gild magician, you might know the answer to that."

"No, I'm afraid not. If I did I might be able to appease Dakova to make him stop…" Then another question struck him. "This bleeding- how does he do it?"

The woman lifted her head from her knees and stared at him for a long, pregnant pause. "You're a magician, and you don't know that?" she finally asked, a breathy note coming into her voice.

For a moment, Akkarin wondered if he had just made a cataclysmic mistake- letting someone else know about his ignorance. But this woman was offering to give him information, so he should take it. But then again, maybe she was working as a spy for Dakova. No, his mind immediately decided, able to come to conclusions a little quicker now, Dakova already had access to every thought in Akkarin's head. He didn't need a spy. So, he decided to throw whatever caution he had left to the wind. "Whatever magic it is, whatever magic it is that Dakova can use, and I am assuming the other Ichani can use as well, we don't use it."

Realisation seemed to dawn over the woman's face. She took in a deep breath, a let it out slowly through slightly parted lips. By the eye, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "Oh, now that answers a few questions I had."

Akkarin shifted his arms slightly behind him so he was better able to look at her. "Like what?"

"Like why it was so easy for Dakova to defeat you. Why he seemed to be so much stronger than you to begin with. Why he seemed so pleased by what he saw in your mind, and why is currently planning to bring all the Ichani together for some sort of meet. Clearly this information, that you don't know how to use Higher Magic, is news to him, and the other Ichani."

Whilst she had answers to her questions, Akkarin was only coming up with more and more. But he needed to focus on one thing at a time. "Higher Magic? Is that what the bleeding is called?"

She nodded. "Higher Magic is more than just that, but it's the basics of it. The Ichani can take magical strength through making a cut in the skin through a person's blood. Don't ask me any more than that, that's all I know- I am not a magician."

Akkarin closed his eyes and thought through the repercussions of this. "So- Dakova can take and store magical strength, even from people who aren't magicians?"

"Precisely. You catch on quickly, I'll give you that."

"Is that how he can read minds without permission? Because we can't do that either."

The woman frowned, for the first time uncertain. "Like I say, I am no magician- but I don't think so. Perhaps the skills are linked somehow... I'll try and find out. I have a way of being able to find out things that magicians who just stroll in don't."

That reminded Akkarin of another question he had. Well, more of a confirmation that he needed. "All the people in this place- all the people who were in Dakova's tent- they're…" his voice drifted off as he failed to find words to describe their horrific situation.

"We're slaves, yes." Her voice came a little softer than before and more gentle, as if she was trying to get across a point. He noted the slight emphasis she put on the first word.

"_We're_?"

"I'm including me and you in that, yes." The woman looked at him carefully. "You ought to get used to that title. Dakova is going to be using it a lot."

A pit grew in his stomach- yes, Dakova had made him say as much, and all the evidence pointed to the fact that this was indeed true, but until that point Akkarin didn't truly believe that his life truly had gone off a cliff edge so quickly. In the back of his mind, he had thought that at some point the tent flaps would be pulled wide, his bonds would be cut and he would be allowed to leave. Or that, by some miracle, the Guild had realised what had happened and sent out their finest warriors to retrieve him. Or in the spirit of all the most dire novels he had ever read, he would wake up and realise this was all a dream.

But he was awake. And no one was coming. No one knew he was here. Instead of a hopelessness seeping through his bones at that thought, at it usually did, in this moment he felt anger building up inside him, burning hotter and hotter as every thought enflamed him all the more. "What is Dakova going to do with me, then?" he snapped. "Leave me tied up here until I die? Surely he knows he can put me to better use to me than this." Akkarin pulled uselessly at his binds.

"Of course he does," the woman replied smoothly. "This is the first part of enslaving person. He weakens them- both in body and in mind, so that they neither have the ability to escape or the spirit to. Once he's done that, he will untie you and put you to work. Being a man, it will most likely be some kind of manual labour. He will continue to take your strength, probably every morning and night as you seem to regain a lot of power quickly, so you will never be able to leave. I wish I didn't have to tell you this, but I felt that you deserved the truth."

Suddenly, Akkarin felt a wave of gratitude for this woman. He realised she had risked much in order to tell him these things. Their time was probably about to run out, and he still knew previous little about her . "How did you end up here?" he asked.

The woman shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "That is a question for another time. Suffice to say my story is not unusual," she said stiffly, and Akkarin decided to not to press the issue. He thought back through everything she had said, putting it together with everything else he had seen and heard. Then something that should have occurred to him a while back finally came into his mind. If he hadn't been in the predicament he was in, Akkarin might have laughed. As it was, he only smiled grimly.

"Why do you smile?" The woman asked curiously.

"Because…" Akkarin considered how to briefly explain his situation. "Well, the reason I was out here in the first place was to find out more about a magical practice once used across the Allied Lands, but disappeared after the Sachakan War. It was something referred to as Higher Magic. I thought it was a type of magic completely extinct from the world today, and I was going to bring it back. As it turns out, what these Ichani—" he pronounced the word carefully, looking at her questioningly. She nodded, and he continued "– _is _this Higher Magic that was referred to in the ancient texts. Now you've explained it, it all makes sense. But it also turns out what they are doing, and what I was accidentally researching, is what we call Black Magic. It's completely banned- punishable by execution, we're not even to supposed to know it's exists, really. I suppose it's just ironic, really, that I am being held captive by the thing I was studying. The thing I thought I could bring back to the Guild."

"Why is it banned?"

"Do I need to answer that? Because it's wrong. It's the thing that's keeping us both here. Without it, we would be able to leave. No wonder the Guild stopped using it…" then realisation struck him with a jolt. "But they _did _use it, once upon a time. There was a time that they clearly used it regularly…" he began to join the dots together as the woman simply watched with interest as he thought aloud. "Magicians would have apprentices. Those apprentices would be taught how to use magic, with the agreement that they would help the magicians conduct what was coined as 'Higher Magic'. They must have been supplying strength to the magicians in exchange for knowledge. But something- I am not quite sure what- something went wrong, and the Guild stopped using Higher Magic and set up the University. Guild magicians have been getting weaker ever since- now the reason for that is obvious to me…" he closed his eyes and felt cold rush over him. "And obvious to Dakova. I just told the Guild's greatest enemy it's greatest weakness. I have given them the perfect ammunition, committed treason, all because I was too weak to keep Dakova out of my mind."

The woman quickly shook her head. "No- don't blame yourself for that. Dakova can read unwilling minds- even if you were at full strength, he could do it. You said yourself, you didn't know how he is able to do it, so it must be some different form of magic. You're in enough pain already, don't add to it by chastising yourself." The last part was delivered softly, comfortingly. Akkarin looked up at her, and they held each other's gaze for a few heartbeats. Her liquid amber eyes soothed him, calmed his racing thoughts so he was almost able to do as she advised- but not quite.

Then the woman stretched and stood. "Our time is up- I need to get Dakova now." She grimaced, her hands pulling at the tired gold robe she wore. "I'm sorry. But I will try and get this job again so I can tell you more, you have my word. And hopefully Dakova won't keep you in here much longer."

"I don't see how it makes much difference- being a slave tied up in here, or being a slave being forced to work out there."

"At least out there you might be able to find some way of trying to…_not _be a slave anymore," she said meaningfully, looking at him in a calculating manner. Then she moved to the entrance of the tent.

"Wait- you never did answer my first question," he said quickly, just as she pushed the tent flap aside. She turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

"What question was that?"

"What is your name?"

The corner of her mouth twitch upward slightly, and she spoke softly and quickly, before slipping out of the tent and into the golden evening light that crept beneath the canvas of the tent.

"I'm Leila."

**Okay guys, it's time to get back to regular updating- and for some improv! There's very little in the texts to guide the next phase of this fic, but I am going to try and write in a style that Trudi would approve of. Any ideas as to what happened in Sachaka you wanna share? Slide into my DMs/ leave a review and I might use it! Love, Cece xox**


	8. Takan

Chapter Eight: Takan

You'd be surprised to learn what a human can live through, when they have no other choice but to live. You'd be even more surprised to learn what things a human can even get used to.

Within a month of beginning his enslavement to Dakova, having finally been let out of the tent once Dakova considered him "broken in", the man's own words, a strange pattern had emerged in Akkarin's life. He would be roused by the strong light of the dawning sun- which, interesting, had not seemed to change its time of arrival as it did in Kyralia. But Akkarin didn't have the time to ponder why this might be.

The first task was to prepare the camp for Dakova when he awoke- the time of which could not be relied upon nearly as fastidiously as the rising sun. This involved the production of a huge amount of food- Akkarin really didn't understand where it all came from, or where it all ended up, because hardly anything was given back to the slaves to serve as their meal- and the preparation of clothes, wood for the fires and limeks to be fed and watered- it was never known when Dakova might want to go tracking. Only once this was all done was there a chance for the male slaves to attend to their own small world of needs-a splash of water on their face, or a meagre morsel shoved into their mouths. But, as I say, they were used to it. So was Akkarin by now.

But once Dakova had roused himself, extricated from whomever was currently sharing his bed, the task that Akkarin could never get used to was completed. He, with some of the other more powerful slaves in the group, were lined up to be bled of the magical strength they had recuperated overnight. Dakova's smile always broadened when he spotted Akkarin.

"Ah, there is he, my pet magician. I hope you slept well, as what use would I have for a weak, untrained Kyralian?" There was always some sort of threat, or jibe, or insult thrown into the words before he would slice open Akkarin's skin and begin the process of bleeding. By this point, the undersides of Akkarin's arms were criss-crossed with a mixture of silver lines and newer pink ones. Looking at the other slaves, Akkarin knew Dakova would start on his upper arms next, seeming to get some enjoyment from vandalising his slaves' bodies as much as possible.

The Akkarin that had left the Guild a year prior, the youthful, bordering on arrogant Akkarin who had had thought he held the world in the palm of his hand and had only to snap his fingers to get whatever he wanted, he would have been incensed by how little _this _Akkarin reacted to such words or to the injuries being inflicted upon him. _Fight him! _He would have screamed. _Don't let him get away with this! _But whilst Akkarin remained strong magically, he had lost almost all the spirit he once had. As Dakova laughed at his own jokes, Akkarin would simply train his eyes on the floor- like a good slave. As much as his pride was being beaten, better that than his body- he didn't want to be one of the corpses that were regularly pulled out of Dakova's tent and were buried in shallow graves just outside the site.

Dakova wouldn't completely exhaust his slaves at this time in the day, however. Even he knew a dead slave was less use than a living one. He would then send them out to do whatever heavy labour needed doing. Sometimes it was reconstruction work on the campsite, other times it was harvesting the small amount of food that could be grown here in the wastes. Most of the time, however, Akkarin was sent down the pits- deep caverns in the outer most parts of the Sachakan mountains, a five mile walk from the campsite. There, Dakova would have them mine for gold and other precious stones, for reasons Akkarin hadn't quite understood. They must being sold, but he wasn't sure to who. No one had approached the camp since he had arrived, and, considering what Leila had told him, Dakova wasn't able to do business with the people of Arvice. But then again, what did such information matter? It wasn't like a trader was going to help him get out of here, even if such a person existed.

The most pressing matter in his mind was getting himself used to such physical labour- having been able to use magic, he hadn't had to life so much as a heavy book in years. It wasn't that his body could do the work- Warriors were expected to keep themselves in good physical shape- it was that his mind wasn't prepared for it.

At the end of a long, exhausting day in the sun, with barely enough sustenance to keep them standing, the slaves would be returned to the camp, when all of them would be drained of their magical strength- ensuring that Dakova got the maximum amount from each of his slaves, and that none of them had the strength to escape during the night. These bleedings were heavier than the ones in the morning, and Akkarin and his fellow prisoners would only have just enough energy left afterward to stumble over to and collapse in the area designated for sleeping. The only small light in this very dark time was that Akkarin's weariness was good to him- he almost always fell straight to sleep, his eyelids having been drooping even before his head hit the dusty ground. Only on very few occasions over the past month had he lain awake as the blood red sun finally sank beneath the horizon, and he thought about his life- his proper life, I mean.

He would wonder what Balkan must be thinking- that he had absconded, shed all his duties. He must be furious. Akkarin knew the man never particularly cared for him, and Akkarin believed envy to be at the heart of this. Maybe he was complaining to the Administrator as he spoke. But neither of them would be worried yet, only irritated.

But what about Lorlen? Would he be worried yet? It was true that their communications had slowed in the last part of Akkarin's travels, yes, but it had been over two months since Akkarin had sent him any correspondence. Would his friend work out something was wrong? But, at this moment, Akkarin had realised in the freezing cold of the desert night, that his magical strength was working against him- no one in the Guild could ever think that he could be beaten in combat, or become too ill to make it home. No one would think anything was amiss.

But before Akkarin was able to get very far with these thoughts, his fatigued mind would drift in a deep, dreamless sleep. Those few hours were, sadly, the best that Akkarin could hope for, for the foreseeable future. But all too soon, he would wake. And the nightmare would begin.

For a man with very few principles, it was clear from early on that Dakova was very protective of the women of the camp. The sexes generally kept to separate lives, and it was almost an interesting psychological study for Akkarin to observe how lines of simple communication and areas of segregation had been silently built into the ecosystem of the camp to keep to Dakova's strict instructions. But then it also became clear almost as early on why these systems were in place. Dakova was not a picky man when it came to his...desires. He would fling back the flaps to his great tent and stalk around the camp, the long trails of his read tunic snapping about his boots, his eyes scanning over the many people he controlled. His eyes would, of course, linger on the women. He would generally snap his fingers in the direction of one, who would wordlessly walk to him, head bowed. When she, whoever she was approached, Dakova would grab her and would haul her into his tent. Akkarin didn't wish to know the rest. But he did know that every single female in this place, no matter what her age or station within the camp, was considered the rightful property of Dakova's bed, and Dakova enjoyed punishing those who he considered had disrespected this.

The women, for their part, were quiet and submissive, having probably learnt a long time ago that obedience was the simplest way to the easiest life- easy as it could be, out here. But Akkarin had also noted they were very resourceful, receiving far fewer punishments than the men having worked out how to predict Dakova's needs before he stated them.

No, the punishments that the women usually received were from the male counterparts. It angered Akkarin to see some of the male slaves acting harshly towards the women- a slap if they didn't do something fast enough or a harsh bark in their direction when they got in the way. Shouldn't they all be trying to get through this together, no matter what their sex? But then again, Akkarin had mused, maybe the men did this to feel slightly more in control of their lives than they really were. Maybe they did it to feel like men again- as if men need to flex their inner power against women to feel strong. Still, he swore to himself that he would never become that sort of man, no matter how bad this situation got. Better to die with a conscience in tact that survive with one in tatters.

I am sure you have been wondering about Leila- how does she fit into all of this? Well, whilst Dakova's...interests, shall we say, were broad and uncommitted, Leila appeared to be a particular favourite. Whenever Akkarin entered Dakova's tent, no matter what time of day, she was always crouched somewhere near him. Their eyes would meet briefly, and Akkarin would feel a frisson run down his spine at the sight of her, but would force himself to look away and focus on being the obeisant, broken-in magician. But apart from those fleeting moments, Akkarin rarely saw her. But he quickly found himself living for the moments he was able to catch a glimpse of her.

He did manage to find someone else to talk to, however. About six weeks into his enslavement, Akkarin found himself with the unenviable task of making Dakova's morning meal. He was very particular about it, often having the cook flogged for not creating it to his exact requirements, which was incredible difficult given the very basic tools that were at their disposal. Add in the fact that Akkarin was not the greatest cook himself, having had the vast majority of his meals prepared for him by servants, and he was pretty sure he was in for an even more miserable day than usual.

He was trying, with very limited to success, to get the juice out of some sting berry nettles, which Dakova enjoyed drizzled over tiro nuts, which had been very carefully cracked so none of them had stains on from the breakage of their outer shells. As yet another of the nettles simply was crushed to an unpleasant paste in the end of the pestle he had managed to grab hold of, he cursed quietly to himself. This would have been so much easier if he had magic.

"It will work better if you don't push so hard," a quiet voice said behind him, speaking in Akkarin's native tongue.

Akkarin turned quickly, not having heard anyone approach him. A Sachakan man, short in stature, but with intelligent eyes was looking at Akkarin's failed attempt carefully. He thought he recognised the man- but then again, with the same unkempt hair, olive skin and rags to wear, everyone started to look alike. "And you should the pestle back and forth in a half circle motion, rather than grinding it all the way round. That way, the leaves won't be damaged so quickly and you'll get more from them. Here, let me show you."

The man held out his hands to take the utensils from Akkarin, who silently handed them over. He wiped the motor clean, took some fresh leaves, positioning slightly differently to the way Akkarin had, then began to grind them, using small back and forth motions with his hand. Soon, a green tinged liquid began to pool around the leaves, and the man made a small noise of satisfaction.

"There," he said, handing the tools back to Akkarin.

"Thank you," Akkarin said quietly, gratefully receiving them. The man looked at him curiously, eyes narrows and head tilted slightly. Then he made an "oh" sound, and gave a small, awkward jerk of his head in acceptance. Akkarin realised the man hadn't understood the words of gratitude he had given. He realised he himself had had no call to use them in well over a month. He also suddenly realised he _did _recognise this man for himself- he was one of the slaves who was forced to give strength twice a day- Akkarin had seen him in the silent queue coming out of Dakova's tent.

The realisation they shared more in common then he had thought, Akkarin became a little bolder. "What is your name, if you don't mind me asking?" he said, having learnt from his conversation with Leilia to tread carefully around topics that involved the other slaves' personal details.

"Takan," the man said without hesitation, as he reached for a bowl of nuts and pulled it towards him. He started snapping the shells off with clear expertise.

"How long have you...been here, Takan?"

The man frowned, considering, but his hands didn't stop working. "I'm not sure. Certainly years, I think, but I couldn't tell you how many. It's easy to lose track of time out here."

To lose so much track of time, you have no idea how long you have been a slave...how old you are...That thought was so terrifying Akkarin's mind wouldn't let him think about it. "And how to you come you are able to use this tongue?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Takan shrugged. "I picked it up over the years. Dakova likes to practice it, and I paid attention. It's...nice, to have a reason to practice it myself, though." His eyes darted to Akkarin's but quickly looked away.

Akkarin smiled to himself but then a though struck him. "But hardly any of the other...people here do," he said carefully, refusing to use _that word _to describe himself aloud. "How come you have picked it up?"

"Perhaps they don't pay as much attention as I do. Perhaps they don't care to learn- you'd have to ask them."

_Or perhaps you are by far the most intelligent person here..._

"I don't speak any Sachakan at all," Akkarin said, silently joining Takan by the bowl and began shelling, but at a slower pace so that he didn't damage the nut inside. There was something rather soothing, something _mindful, _about the simple action. Suddenly, he didn't mind having ended up with this task after all. "Well, I know a very small number of words that I picked up on my travels, but none of them are going to help me here."

"It's not that different to Sachakan, really," Takan replied. "They are...structured in the same way, so it's not that difficult to learn once you've mastered the basics. Does...does that make sense?" He suddenly sounded hesitant, less confident in his ability.

Akkarin nodded. "Yes, it does."

He thought about what the man had said. _Dakova likes to practice..._why did he wish to learn Kyralian? What possible use could the man have for learning the language of a country he had never been to, would never go to.

_Wait..._

Maybe _that _was it. Maybe Dakova had some plan that involved needed to understand Kyralians. Perhaps it would be possible to Akkarin to spy on those plans. And if it was possible for him to do that undetected, perhaps it would be possible for him to escape and report his findings to the Guild. But no, that wouldn't work, he realised. Any plans Dakova was making, particularly ones he might be making with other Ichani, would be being made in Sachakan. Dakova knew he had a Kyralian in his camp, one who was strong and wanted to go home, so he would be guarding his secrets carefully. In order to work out what was going on, Akkarin would have to learn Sachakan. Small chance of that- Akkarin was no Tayend of Tremmalin, or Takan, it seemed. He couldn't pick up a language simply by hearing it. But... but maybe he had a potential teacher right in front of him.

"Could...could you teach me?" he asked, blurting out the words before he truly realised he had done it.

Takan looked at him steadily for a good while. Then he sighed and turned away. Akkarin knew the man's answer already- of course we was going to say no. It was wrong of him to ask- Takan already had enough to cope with without having to teach some Kyralian magician who had been stupid enough to end up in this mess.

Then Takan turned back to him, grasping a metal pot in his hand, the kind that was put over a fire to boil water and stews.

"This is _furneista," _he said, gesturing to the pot. For a moment, Akkarin was too surprised to speak, to open his mouth to respond. "What?" Takan said with the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. "It would be a bit obvious if you suddenly understood Sachakan words for politics and plots, wouldn't it? If we're going to do this, we best start with the most obvious words for you to learn. We can save how to woo women or commit espionage for later."

**I was meant to upload this last night, but I was forced to the pub with people from work and by the time I got home I just wanted to get into bed! Better late than never, right? Love, Cece xox**


	9. Brother, Mine

It is my personal belief that no one is born evil.

Now you can debate that as much as you like, everyone is entitled to their opinion- but answer me this- if evil is an innate part of some people's personalities, how is it that evil always tends to be born in particular circumstances? When people are poor, both in body and in spirit, desperate, angry and vengeful, they look for change. And they are willing to get that change in whatever way they deem necessary. No, evil is not innate, is it a product of an unfair lot in life. That's not to say that such behaviour is acceptable, however. Evil is evil, however you try to explain it away.

Even as I consider Dakova now, sitting in his great tent, lounging on his great bed, swallowing in his great opinion of himself, I see the story that got him to this point. He was born in a whore house in Arvice, and a less than reputable one at that. His father was some Sachakan Lord, Dakova never learnt whom exactly, who was too lazy to use the proper magical procedures to stop little problems like whelping bastard children from happening. His mother had died of the pox when he was four, barely enough time for Dakova to know her. After that he was on his own. He was passed around poor houses and work houses like the unwanted, unclaimed illegitimate by-product that he was.

The years melted away until he was no longer a boy but a young man- strong and resilient after years of servitude. It wasn't hard for him to find himself an apprenticeship- with a simple trader, but he was also something else- a magician. The man saw strength, both mental and magical, in Dakova, and took him on. He gave his strength to magician, and also helped him with his business, and in turn, Dakova learnt the skills he had been dying to know since he had learnt of their existence. Then it all went wrong.

The magician, now old and tired, had decided to close down his business to spend his remaining years with his wife, children and grandchildren. He told Dakova this in an apologetic tone. "I know I haven't taught you everything I know," he said, "but I will help you find someone who can."

To anyone watching, Dakova appeared to accept this with some equanimity. But inside, he was raging. He would not be rejected again. He would not be cast off again. He would not be pushed around again.

So, after he finished his last day with his master, he crept back into the man's house and, very calmly, slit his former master's throat and stole his magical strength. And that of the man's wife.

Dakova wasn't as good a criminal as he was now. It didn't take very long for the pieces of puzzle to be put together and for him to be cast out- but not before a single word was burned with a branding iron into his skin.

_Ichani__._

Out in the wastes, however, Dakova had found his true calling- being a master. It hadn't taken him long to catch a few unsuspecting travellers and to enslave them to his will. In the ten years that had passed, those few had turned into a good few dozen, and until a few months ago, Dakova had been quite at ease with his life. Until the Kyralian had appeared that is- then he realised everything he had been missing.

But enough of this, and back to the matters at hand.

The tent flap was pushed back slightly, and one of the slaves came stumbling in, seeming to have been running at great speed. What was his name? Dakova had no idea. Not that it mattered, anyway.

"Kariko is here, Master," the man said, before bowing low and scampering away.

"Ah, finally," Dakova said, more to himself than anyone else. "Don't go anywhere," he said to the woman lying next to him. In a completely other context, those purred words may have sounded seductive, even loving, but right here, right now, they held all the threat that Dakova wanted them to hold. Leila simply nodded, not looking at him, as he got up, stretched, pulled on his clothes and went outside. It didn't take him long to find the familiar figure.

"Brother," he said, greeting his brother with a slight inclination of the head, which Kariko returned.

"Dakova."

There was an awkward moment of silence. The brothers had never found an easy rapport with each other, never knowing whether to view the other as a friend or as an enemy. They had found each other out here nine or so years ago. They had realised they were brothers quite by accident, after sharing stories from their lives. Whether they were full brothers or not was never truly established- after all, it was a whore house. They kept a respectful distance from each other- Dakova preferring to keep his camp in one place for his comfort, Kariko preferring to travel, in an attempt, in Dakova's opinion at least, to never let the dust in his life settle, never accepting this was his reality. He could never accept this state of being as Dakova had. This meant, though, that they may only meet once, maybe twice, in a given year. This time was different, however- this time, Dakova had summoned his older brother.

"Come, let us walk. I have something I would like to show you." Dakova gestured to a rise on the west side of the camp, underneath which he knew had some of his slaves turning the ground ready for planting.

Kariko raised his eyebrows but said nothing, but fell into step next to his brother. Two slaves silently followed a few feet behind.

"How hae your travels been? Have you found success?"

Kariko let out a bark of laughter. "Do women cry when their husbands are killed? Of course I have found success. But more to the point- why am I here? Why have you summoned me? You know I do not like my private time being disturbed?"

"I have caught someone rather interesting."

"Who?"

"A Kyralian."

"Really? You are sure."

"Of course," Dakova all but spat. Oh, he really couldn't stand his older brother.

"What was he doing all the way out here- trading?"

"No."

"Hunting?"

"No."

Kariko sighed. "I'm getting bored of this guessing game."

"If you had patience beyond that of a child, I would tell you to wait."

They were now approaching the top of the rise. From this height, they had a good view of the slaves below, without it being obvious they were being watched. It was one of the chief reasons Dakova had them working in such of spot. Each of whom was turning up the ground with spades- not very good spades to be sure, but Dakova had realised that as long as they worked hard enough, the slaves could do just as good a job with poor tools as with good ones.

"Now- which one do you think I am talking about?" he said, turning to his brother. Kariko frowned, and shaded his eyes from the strong midday sun. He scanned each of the faces until his eyes stopped suddenly, then narrowed. He pointed towards the back of the group.

"That one."

Dakova followed his brother's finger- and indeed, yes, there was his most valuable prize. His pale skin, though more tanned then his arrival, did make him stand out. Dakova really couldn't fault Akkarin's work ethic. He was pulling his weight as much as any of the other male slaves around the camp, heaving great masses of the red soil with his spade. He only stopped for a brief second to wipe sweat from his eyes, but immediately carried on. This had annoyed Dakova slightly at first- he had wanted another reason to punish the arrogant boy. But, he had thought, maybe Akkarin was doing this deliberately, working harder than anyone to avoid punishment. Well, there was a long game at play here, and Dakova was willing to play it as long as necessary.

"Well done. Now... look at him."

"What is it that you think I am doing at present? Smelling him?"

"No, dear brother. _Look _at him."

Kariko sighed impatiently, but returned his full attention. His gaze became distant as he looked at Akkarin beyond the simple visual. Then he took in a sudden deep breath. "Oh," was all he said, but his mouth turned up into a nasty sneer. He turned back to Dakova."How did you-"

Dakova waved a hand. "He was travelling through to the city- like a moron. Told me he was doing research on magic, and it didn't take much to put the rest together. He didn't realise what he was doing- again, like a moron. People with the highest intelligence end up doing the stupidest things, I swear."

It seemed that Kariko couldn't take his eyes off the man, now that he knew what Akkarin was. "But how long are you planning on keeping him?"

Dakova shrugged non-commitedly. "As long as he can walk and work. I don't see him dropping dead for a few years, but they all do eventually."

Kariko turned back to him, a frown now creasing his brow. "It'll be dangerous to keep him. You must have considered that he could easily rise up against you- all he has to do is persuade his fellow slaves to give him some of their power and-"

"Ah, but now we come to the crux of the matter." Dakova turned and faced his brother head on. He couldn't stop a gleeful smile from spreading across his features. "He doesn't know."

Kariko looked confused. "Doesn't know what?"

"Let's just say he's not a _proper _magician." Dakova looked at his brother meaningfully. Kariko simply stared at him- then his eyes widened.

"You must be mistaken, Dakova."

Dakova held back a nasty retort. As much as he wanted to slap his brother for questioning him, he knew this moment was too important to ruin with violence. "I read it from his mind, Kariko. I assure you I am not mistaken. He doesn't know the Higher Magics. According to his memories, he thinks that the Guild stopped teaching it after the Great War."

Kariko turned away. He eyes darted across the landscape, a clear sign that he was thinking quickly. "But...what of the rest of the Guild? Just because this boy doesn't know it doesn't mean that the other magicians do not. He is young, yes? He would have been what they considered a junior member. Perhaps they only teach it to them when they are older and more senior."

"From what he understands, no one knows in the Guild knows the Higher Magics. He was only told it was forbidden, and that was it. It is one of the reasons he is out here- he was researching Ancient Magics used by the Guild, but didn't realise what he was really studying is that the Guild now calls _Black Magic."_ Dakova grimaced at the phrase. "What a stupid name for it- there is nothing black about blood. Well, fresh blood, anyway."

"That doesn't mean that the other members don't know it, though," Kariko pointed out, waing a hand dismissively. "All it means is that Akkarin and the other more junior members doesn't know they are using it. Perhaps they give it such a name to dissuade its use."

"Then why send one of their prize warriors out across the Allied Lands to research what they already know? Look, we simply cannot get more evidence than this for now, brother. Not without sending the boy back to spy on the Guild, and there's no way we can get him to do that."

Kariko crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "I suppose you have a point there. And in reality, a secret like that wouldn't stay secret. If the Guild _was _teaching the higher magics to any of its members, the others would know. It's not exactly a subtle art." Kariko looked away and back at the subject of their conversation. He cursed, just loudly enough for Dakova to hear him. "This changes everything, you realise?"

Dakova nodded. "Everything we thought we knew was wrong."

"The only obstacle that was stopping us taking our revenge on the Guild has now disappeared." Kariko turned to look at his brother again. "We could go home."

Dakova smiled at his brother- a small smile, but with bite. "Better- we could all go home _and _rule the entire lands- from here to the Great Seas, maybe even beyond."

Kariko frowned at that. "When you say we could _all-"_

Dakova nodded. He had prepared for this part of the conversation carefully, knowing that Kariko would need some persuading. "I have already spoken with the others in your absence. We will need them if we are to win this fight. Whilst the Guild might be infantile in their understanding of magic, there are far more of them than there are of us. We need to band together to defeat them."

Kariko sighed loudly- not a sigh of dejection, more of irritation. "You know how I feel about even being around the others- they would sooner put a knife in your back than help you. And quite frankly, I really can't be bothered to clean up the mess left behind when I have to slit their throats."

"If you have any other ideas, I am all ears," Dakova said, not a little defensively. "But we, the two of us, are not strong enough to defeat the entire Guild- not even with all these-" he waved at his band of slaves. "This will be the war to end all wars- we will either die in the attempt, or become stronger than any magicians in history."

Kariko was silent for a while. He drummed his fingers on his arm, the motion making a small patter that irritated Dakova to a strangely strong degree. "If this is true, then we should make a deal. We both want to remain on top, do we not?" Kariko said eventually.

Dakova resisted the urge to role his eyes- his brother always felt the need to take over every single plan he was involved in one he heard of it. No, not this time. "Obviously, brother-mine. The real question is: which of _us _is on top."

Kariko shook his head in a parental sort of way. "No, we can't think about that now. For now, we need to work together if we are going to use this information to our advantage. Now you have told the others, they themselves may be plotting to move before we do at this moment. We don't want that. We want to be able to control this- we are going to need to approach this very slowly and carefully. Arvice wasn't build in a day, and the Guild won't be brought down in one either. We need to make sure that _our _plans are the ones that go ahead, and not theirs. And for that, we need to be seen as a unit. We need them to think we, together, are stronger than all them combined- even if something happens to one of us."

Those last words caught Dakova's attention. "So, if one of us dies, the other will take vengeance for his death?"

Kariko nodded eagerly. "Exactly. We metaphorically have each other's backs. No one would dare touch us, meaning we are running this little show. You can get back to..." Kariko waved a hand back at the camp, "drinking wine and fucking as many whores as you can, and I will consider how we can best use this information to our advantage."

Dakova, unlike his brother, was never a patient man, and it was quite amazing that he had managed to keep his temper for so long. But at that, his short fuse blew. He grabbed his brother round the throat with some force, and pushed back against the wall.

"I warn you, be careful, brother. I could end you now and spare someone else the trouble of doing it."

Then he realised something sharp was pressing into his side. Kariko chuckled, and pressed his knife slightly harder into Dakova's clothing. "And now it is time for me to warn you, Dakova- _you _be careful. If you think I would let you take me down without bring you with me, you are mistaken."

Recognising the stale mate, Dakova let out an explosive breath and let his brother go."Very well. I think we have both made our points. Shall we swear by it, then?"

The corner of Kariko's mouth turned upward. "Yes, let's."

Dakova reached for the knife at his waist- of course he had a knife on him. No sensible Ichani went anywhere without a blade they could unsheathe at a moment's notice. At the same time, Kariko was doing the same thing. The man looked up and held his brother's gaze steadily. He then pulled his sleeve up on his left arm and held out his wrist. Dakova did the same thing- being careful to fold the material of his shirt up carefully, it was new and already a favourite, and he too proffered his arm.

Simultaneously, the brothers reached for each other's wrists. With their knives, they sliced thin cuts into each other's skin- all the while they held each other's gaze, looking for signs of pain and discomfort. Neither one wanted to be the first to break contact with the other's blade. Eventually they separated at a time so close together it would be imposible to say who withdrew first with only the naked eye. They then shook hands. Dakova could feel the blood squeezing between his fingers.

"I consider myself blood bound to you, Dakova."

"And I to you, brother mine. This will be a pact to chance the history of our people for generations to come."

**Shout out to guest reviewer Dee for their review on the last chapter! You're absolutely right about the whole language thing- when I came to planning this fic, I struggled to conceptualise how I would make this work- it is something of a plot hole (well, not hole, but plot-bump-in-the-road, so to speak). I will try and address it as much as I can, but I think some creative license may be required, ****haha****! Love, ****Cece****xox**


	10. Leila's Story

Chapter Ten: Leila's Story

The Sachakan sunset truly was the most spectacular across all the lands, particularly when one found pause to enjoy it.

For the first time in three months, Akkarin had found he wasn't needed for an evening. Dakova had not called his slaves to him to take their power- the reason for which Akkarin wasn't sure, but he certainly wasn't going to question it. Takan had told him that this was such a rare opportunity that he ought to find hide himself away somewhere and enjoy it.

Realising he had the chance to simply... be, if only for an hour or so, not having the exhaustion brought on by the bleeding of power leaving him no choice but to sleep, he had slipped away behind one of the outer tents of the camp and, legs crossed, was simply enjoying watching the sun sink beneath the mountainous horizon. With his magic strength at a level he almost recognised in him, a half decent meal inside him (with no great feast required for Dakova, Takan and his helpers had had the opportunity to cook more for the slaves) and a calm settled over his mind, he felt almost normal for the first time since coming into the wastes. He closed his eyes and savoured the sensation.

Then he heard the sound of stone being kicked behind him, and his eyes snapped open again. An all too familiar anxiety swept over him like a sudden chill. That was one thing that would never change. He wondered if there would ever be a time again when he didn't tense whenever another person approached him.

"Do you want some company?" a hushed voice asked, and Akkarin's heart leapt as he instantly recognised it, and relief filled him, a warm breeze dissipating the cold. "I've brought wine, if that helps you make a decision."

"Leila-" he breathed, turning to look at her. She held the promised bottle in her hand, and she looked more at peace then he had ever seen her- which only added to her beauty, as it turned out. "Please," he said, gesturing to the ground next to him, as if it were one of the plush settees found with the Guild's walls. He had wanted to be alone, it was true, but this was an even better option.

She smiled and settled next to him, curling her legs underneath her. She looked at the bottle, then at him in a slightly worried fashion. "I suppose you wouldn't want to drink out of a bottle would you? Being of noble stock and all." It appeared that she, like him, was in a surprisingly good mood. He had never heard anyone here make anything close to a joke before- well, apart from Dakova, of course. It made Akkarin wonder whether she had already started on the bottle.

"I'll have you know I've drunk wine out of the bottle many times before," he chided gently, nudging her shoulder. "And right now I am so desperate for alcohol I would drink it off the floor. Give that here-" he ordered gently, taking the bottle from her hands, pulling out the cork and holding it up to his lips.

"I should warn you-" Leila said, but too late. The potent liquid scorched his throat and made him cough loudly. "Shh," she hushed, but there was amusement in her tone rather than anxiety. "I was going to say that we like our drinks a little stronger than the rest of the world."

"A little?" Akkarin gasped, staring at the bottle in fascination.,"it nearly blew my head off! What's in this stuff?!"

She laughed then as he continued to cough- to Akkarin's ears, the sound was pleasing as that of wind chimes being rocked on a gentle summer breeze. "All the normal ingredients for a good wine- but Dakova likes it strong. He has it fermented for the double the normal amount of time."

"Double? He truly is insane, isn't he?" Akkarin said, still a little wheezy, feeling the burning sensation travel down his throat. He took in deep breaths to still the choking sensations he still felt building in his lungs.

"Well, maybe you're not such an experienced drinker as you like to make out." She took the bottle from him, her elegant fingers gently brushing against his as she did so, and Akkarin felt a jolt race through him. Their gaze met briefly, her large amber eyes holding an ocean of emotions he couldn't identify. She looked away shyly and took a deep draught from the bottle.

"Well, I really don't care right now, anything that will take the edge off will do me just fine," he said, just for something to say. Then a question occurred to him. "How did you manage to get hold of it? I assumed that Dakova counts his bottles in and out like prisons count their cutlery."

Leila smiled mischievously. "He thought this one was finished and had thrown it out to be refilled. He is so drunk tonight he is out for the count, he won't be bothering us again this evening."

"That explains why I was never called by him- but why is he so intoxicated this evening? Did he have to tie his own bootlaces or something equally taxing?"

"Oh, I don't know." Leila said dismissively, as if the reason didn't matter. She drank again and handed back the bottle to Akkarin. "Actually, I _do _know that his brother visited him again yesterday. They seemed to be making plans of some sort. It's... exciting him." She took a deep breath in. When she released it, it was shaky. Maybe she wasn't in as good a mood as he thought, just a bit drunk.

"I see- and currently lying in his tent in a deep stupor?" he looked to her, and she nodded. "Charming. His brother, though- is he one that visited a few weeks back?"

She nodded again. "Yes- his name is Kariko. I don't know if they're full brothers or not, but they call each other brother. They also fight as much as my brothers used to, so I don't think they can be anything else."

So, she has, or _had, _brothers. Akkarin stored that piece of information in his mind. "What were their plans about?" he asked.

"I couldn't hear well enough to tell you that I am afraid, but I did hear something Dakova said about 'bringing down the wrath of their ancestors upon them'. Whoever 'they' are." Leila rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't be Dakova's first mad scheme, and it won't be his last, I am sure. Vengeance is his reason to live."

He took a draught from the bottle and handed it back to her, deciding to take a risk, probably because he was already starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. A warmth filled his stomach, and his head buzzed pleasantly. "Was it one of his mad schemes that led to you ending up being here?"

The bottle paused in mid-air as she froze and slowly turned to look at him. If looks could cut glass, hers would have shattered the bottle in her hand into splinters. He stared at him icily, but he forced himself to meet it levelly.

"What does it matter how I came to be here? I wasn't here, now I am. There's not much more too it, really. What more would you have me say?" The bottle resumed its journey upwards, and Leila drank deeply from it. He noticed a slightly tremor in her hand as she did so.

But Akkarin wasn't going to give up. He decided what was needed was patient, gentle persistence. If they were going to be stuck here together, and if they were going to spend time together, as she seemed to want to do, they needed to know more about each other. "Where were you born?"

Leila sighed, sounding exasperated. "Even if I told you, would it mean anything to you? It's not like you would know where it is. I just came out here to drink, and I thought you'd make a good partner, not an inquisitor."

There was silence between them then. After a dozen or so heartbeats, Akkarin spoke into it, trying to break the ground of her resistance softly. "I want to know not because the place would mean anything to me, but because I think there is more to you than simply being in this place- I would like to know more about the real _you, _not the person who pretend to be here."

"Who says I'm pretending?" she snapped back, but when she turned to look at him, she must have seen something of the sincerity he was feeling, as her face softened a little. "Fine. You win." She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "I was born in Sengregori. It's a small region just on the other side of the mountains, pretty much as far from the city as you can get."

Akkarin held back a smile of victory, knowing such an expression could well spook her into silence again. "How far is it from here?"

She pursed her lips, and looked away, seeming to be doing rough calculations in her head. "It would take a good week or so to walk it, without taking your time."

"And Dakova came to it, looking for slaves?"

"No- it was another of the Ichani. His name is Havijaka." Leila paused then, but Akkarin didn't ask any more questions. He somehow knew she was collecting her thoughts, readying herself to tell her story. "Havijaka enjoys raiding villages like the one I came from- because of who he is, he can take whatever he wants without having to spend a single penny. Livestock, crops, anything sellable is his to possess. But his favourite possessions are people.

"You haven't met him yet, so I don't expect you to believe me, but Havijaka gets bored easily, even when he is enslaving people. You'd think that forcibly taking people's freedom would be exciting enough, but not for Haviijaka. He's been doing it for so long that he needs an extra kick at times. On occasion, he would sometimes make the game a little more interesting. He would give some families a choice- they could choose one member of the family to be enslaved and the rest could go free, or refuse to give a name and they would all be taken. When I was thirteen, nearly seven years ago now, Havijaka came to my father and offered him this choice. And he chose me."

Leila shifted slightly. She gripped the bottle tightly between her two hands, her knuckles white against her tanned skin. "I don't blame him, you know. I probably would have done the exact same thing in his position- sacrificing his youngest child, youngest daughter, the least important member of the family, as the only sensible thing to do. It was either that or our entire family would have been erased. In a way, that's the only thing that is keeping me sane here. The fact that, by being here, I am keeping my family alive."

Akkarin found it difficult to know how to respond- the horror of such a story shook him to his very core. "Even so, to be offered up to such a man, and at so young an age... I can't imagine how terrifying that must have been."

Leila nodded. "It was, but I survived."

"And how did you end up with Dakova."

Leila took a deep breath. "Dakova, as you've probably noticed, is something of a collector of slaves- he likes the _interesting _ones, like you, and the...well, what he would consider _attractive _ones, like me."

_The one thing __Dakova__ and I can agree on..._

"The Ichani hold regular auctions for their slaves- we often find ourselves been passed around. Dakova bought me at the very first one I was brought to, and thus it has been ever since. So," she said, turning back to him, with a curious glance, "now you've heard my story, what do you say?

Akkarin sighed, and took the bottle from her. "I don't know what to say." At that, Leila, strangely, smiled. "Why do you smile?" he asked softly.

"Because I was expecting you to try and say something comforting. That you feel ever so...oh, what's the word? Something you Kyralians say when you regret something happening.

Akkarin snorted slightly. "You're looking for the word _sorry."_

"Right, I didn't want you to feel sorry for me, and to tell me that no doubt I will be out of here soon. Something trite and unbelievable. To be honest, that's the reason I didn't want to tell you in the first place- I didn't want pity."

"Neither do I."

"Then neither of shall pity the other, and you shall pass me the bottle back and tell me your story."

"We're nearly out," he said, shaking the remaining liquid at the bottom of the bottle.

"Then you will need to talk for my entertainment instead." She turned to face him, legs crossed neatly beneath her. She looked at him expectantly. Suddenly, he understood her earlier reticence- talking about what he had once had was painful. But then again...maybe it would help.

"I...I was born in an area of Kyralia called Imnadris. It's the area where most of the country's farming occurs..." he began slowly, stumbling slightly over his words. "My House owns most of the land."

She frowned. "Your...House? How can a building own land?"

Akkarin smiled, but stopped himself from laughing, which would have been unfair. As her knowledge of this tongue was so good, he had forgotten it wasn't her native one. "Oh, no- a House in this sense means a group of families with a common ancestor. I am from a House called the Velans. Ours goes back over twenty generations. I am from one of the oldest families in the House- in all Kyralia, actually- a family called the Delvons."

"I think I understand that, though your customs are very strange. Are your family farmers, then, if they own all this land?"

Akkarin snorted. "Hardly, but that puts a good image in my head, watching my relatives learning how to use a plough and sythe. They rent the land to farmers at profitable prices. That's how they make their money- there's plenty of it, I assure you."

"A whole family, or more than one family, can't own land together, surely. So, who is it that actually owns the land?"

"You're right, it is my father owns most of it, his name is on the vast majority of the deeds. But because it would be too much work for just him to handle, he has broken it up into segments for the other families in the House to deal with on a day to day basis. But he makes sure he gets the majority of the profits."

"And what does he do with the money?"

Akkarin smiled. "Buys more land. And horses. And wine, much better wine than this."

She sighed. "And so the cycle continues. The rich continue to get richer whilst-"

Akkarin shrugged slightly. "The poor will never be able to pull themselves up to an equivalent position- you have a point there. But he isn't a bad landlord, really- compared to some. He actually tries to give the tenants as much autonomy as possible, even if it is for the selfish reason that he doesn't want to deal with their complaining. Still, I understand your point of view."

"And what about you? Where do you fit into all of this? You haven't talked about yourself much."

Akkarin paused, wondering where best to start describing himself. "I was fifteen when I was sent away to the Guild. When I graduated and took the Magicians' Vow, I resigned all family titles and ties. The hope was that I would sire a son- well, more than one son, ideally, and he would take up my titles in my stead. Now much chance of that happening now, eh?" He sighed and drank deeply from his glass. "You know, if my mother knew what had happened to me, she'd be less concerned about my welfare than the future of her precious dynasty." He stopped himself then. "But probably best not to get into all that."

"You don't have any siblings, then?"

"Two sisters. But girls can't inherit- meaning all our lands and titles will be passed on to the next male heir in line, who will be from one of the lesser families."

"Well that's one thing that both our cultures have in common, a belief that women are not capable of making rational decisions."

He looked at her then. She had brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She was looking to the horizon wistfully, the sun having almost disappeared behind it. He almost said something glib then- that not all men are like that, that there were some good men out there, but considering her reaction to his lack of pity earlier, he realised this wouldn't go down well. So he kept his silence as he thought until the sun had completely vanished behind the sands far away to the west. Then a thought struck him. "We have even more in common than just that, you know," he said.

Leila turned her head on her knees so she could look at him directly. "Oh, and what's that?"

"It's quite obvious really, once you think of it- the fact that even though we have come from such completely different worlds, we both...ended up here." He shook his head. "Well, I suppose you had no choice, I was just an idiot."

Suddenly, he felt her fingers on the back of his hand. "Everyone makes mistakes." Her voice was soft and soothing. After a moment's hesitation, he took those fingers and curled them around his own. They continued to sit there, like children, hand in hand, gazing at the great, desolate, beautiful wastes in front of them.

**To the guest reviewer who asked if I am planning on using characters from the Traitor Spy Trilogy- an excellent question, because I honestly haven't quite decided yet. I have some pretty strong objections to the second trilogy, and the "reveals" that Trudi made about stuff that happened during what I have coined "The ****Sachakan**** Years". She effectively makes ****Akkarin**** a big fat liar simply so she could write a new series for ££££, which makes me pretty mad. I don't want to get into that right now for two reasons: 1) because I don't want to give away any #spoilers for people who haven't read TST and 2) because I don't want to give away #spoilers for my next fic... yes, you have been warned, ****Cece**** 3.0, like Winter, is coming! Such love xoxo**


	11. Run

Chapter Eleven: Run

_When in battle, you must look for the slightest opportunity, however small, however unlikely it is to succeed. You never know, maybe Lady Luck will be on your side just when you need her. _

Akkarin remembered scoffing at those words when he heard Balkan say them in his fourth year at the university. He remembered the sharp look of reproach he was given when his rudeness was heard by the teacher and the abashed way that he had looked away and back to the textbook in front of him. Still, it did seem ridiculous to the young student. Warriors were supposed to be able to rely on themselves and their fellow comrades in arms to win any challenge, not on luck. That's why he had decided to dedicate his to the art. But then again, maybe that was the difference between Balkan and himself- Balkan was good, but he was exceptional.

Akkarin the graduated warrior now knew it was that kind of thinking that had led him into this mess. As he passed the six-month mark of being a slave, the humility the role required was quickly banishing any grandiose thoughts he may once have had about himself. Now, he was looking for lady luck under every boulder and around every corner.

It reminded him a little of what High Priest Kassyk had told him about faith- that a religious requires one to take a step into the unknown and trust that the Gods, who are perhaps 'luck' by another name, will catch you. Well, even if there were any Gods, it was clear they had abandoned this place to rot. After all, what kind of God, who by His very definition must be all-loving, would allow this to happen in a world that he dominated over with his omnipotent power? No, it was clear luck was going to be only friend Akkarin had out here now. Save Takan and Leila.

Since that evening he had spent drinking with Leila underneath the Sachakan stars, he realised that maybe not all was lost. There were, even if they were fleeting and small, opportunities, there were small snatches of time he could take here and make them, if not pleasant, then bearable. He could watch the sunset, eat a semi-decent meal, watch a beautiful, intelligent girl laugh and, for a moment, forget.

That thought had bolstered his inner strength a little- because if there were opportunities like those, there could also be others. Perhaps there would be chances to find out more about what Dakova was planning, perhaps even to take revenge on him. And if he was very, very lucky, maybe even the slightest opportunities to run.

Akkarin may have been graping at straws, but he wasn't stupid. He knew he was never likely to succeed. He knew that, whether or not Lady Luck or fate existed, chances were even if there was a window which he could to get way from this place, he would soon be found, beaten, and life would start again. But he might as well try, right?

But I say all this to explain why he was currently cowering behind a rock in the middle of the plains, his breath coming in pants.

As he had been walking with his fellow slaves to the mines that morning, he had seen Kariko coming down from the mountains. The man had put a hand up to shade himself from the strong rising sun and watched the slaves pass. It hadn't taken him long to spot Akkarin, and his gaze lingered on him longer than any of Akkarin's comrades. Kariko's eyes narrowed into slits, then he smiled nastily and carried on his descent and strode in the direction of Dakova's camp.

Whilst Kariko had been making a study of Akkarin, Akkarin had being doing like wise. He had tended to visit the camp every three weeks- Akkarin was getting better at judging time without any measurement of time beyond that of the rising and setting of the sun. Every time, almost without fail, the pair would talk for a good few hours, then drink for a good few more hours, until the land was dark and the slaves could assure themselves they were no longer needed. Leila had come and spent time with him a few times in those instances- other times Akkarin had spent with Takan, taking the opportunity to learn the native language. Very occasionally, groups of slaves had come together to sit around the campfire and talk- almost cheerily. Akkarin now knew of the language to understand them, if not offer a few words of his own.

But Akkarin couldn't help but feel that such opportunities were being wasted. As Dakova lay in a drunken stupor, he was utterly powerless to stop anything the slaves might get up to. _We could leave_, Akkarin thought, as he allowed himself to be cajoled into joining in some gentle singing- kept quiet so that Dakova wouldn't wake. He had mentioned this to Leila once, but she had just laughed at him.

"And go where, Akkarin? It's not like there's somewhere nearby that would offer us shelter. Dakova would find us in a day."

Her answer had disappointed him, but not dissuaded him. He couldn't carry on like this. His conscience would never forgive him if he simply allowed himself to break and find peace with this form of existence.

So as Kariko walked in the opposite direction, Akkarin decided that today would be today. When they returned from their work and were, unsurprisingly, never called to Dakova's tent, he waited until twilight, and most of the slaves were asleep, taking advantage of an early night was not to be laughed at in this climate, and slowly made his way to the edge of the campsite. He say down by the last tent before the empty wastes spread out in front of him, hoping anyone who had seen him walk here simply thought he was enjoying the undisturbed view. He also took the opportunity to plan his route- east to meet the edge of the mountains, then as south as south would go.

As the last of the light left the sky, he slowly rose, checked that all was in order behind him and very quietly, walked away from the camp. Then, when he was sure he wouldn't be heard, he began to run.

He was grateful, then, for the physical labour he had been forced to endure, as it ensured that his muscles were able to keep him going without too much help from the Healing magic he had almost forgotten how to use.

He knew this window was small- soon, someone would work out he was missing. He knew they would immediately tell Dakova, and he respected that- if Dakova woke and realised that no one had told him, he would have the whole camp punished, and Akkarin did not want that on his conscience. But it meant he has to make these precious few hours count.

About halfway to the mountains, he allowed himself to stop behind a well- positioned boulder to catch his breath. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a limek's bark behind him, far closer to him than he knew would give him the chance to escape, he then saw the approaching brightness of a globelight, and closed his eyes against its glare.

_Damn it._

His mind was in two halves, wrestling each other- one had truly hoped that this plan would work, the other was amazed he had managed to get so far. If nothing else, he had enjoyed these few hours on his own, feeling like a free man once more. Then the shout came, and any peace he felt was ripped from him.

"Where are you, little magician? Where have you got to? Come out, come out and play!"

He knew he had a decision to make then. He could try and continue this escape attempt, after all, Dakova hadn't actually caught him yet- but knowing Dakova, that would probably end in him being serious injured and lamed for the rest a considerable period, if not the rest of his life. Dakova wasn't one to put physically limited slaves on different duties, or even to put them out of their misery when they clearly couldn't do the work. No, Dakova allowed these poor people to slowly work themselves to death, or they were consumed by some inner madness, which led them to making mistakes that led to their demise. Akkarin had seen it, and he knew that if he had to live like this, he would do so with a fully functioning body and mind.

So he rose from his crouched position behind the rock shielding him from his fate, hands in the air.

"Alright, Dakova. You win."

Dakova's head snapped around and he threw his globe light in Akkarin's direction. Akkarin winced at its brightness, but remained exactly where he was.

"Ah, there you are. Choosing to give up of your own accord, I see. A good decision. Come then. I would make some sort of threat, but I am sure your position is clear to you."

"Crystal clear." Akarrin walked towards the man, bracing his body for the impact of a sudden magic, or indeed physical, strike. But it didn't come. Dakova grinned at him, then brought two fingers to his lips and whistled. The limek came bounding over immediately, and barked up at Akkarin, their fanged teeth glinting in the globe light's heavy glare.

"They can run faster than any man alive, so try to escape now and, well, I can't be held responsible for what they do to you."

"Fine."

Dakova starting walking with a jovial step- Akkarin wasn't sure if he was supposed to follow- didn't Dakova plan on beating the living daylights out of him and then force him to walk the long road back? Maybe Dakova was planning on waiting until he had an audience.

As one of the limek growled nastily and far too close to him for comfort, he started to follow Dakova, at the usual respectful distance slaves were supposed to keep from their masters.

"I must thank you, Akkarin. On two counts?"

Akkarin rolled his eyes. Oh, so this was why- Dakova wanted to use this time to gloat. "Oh, really?"

"Yes. Firstly, I have needed a good hunt like this. It's been a good year since any slave of mine has bolted. I needed the practice, as did they," he said, gesturing to the limek. "Second, this is further evidence of Guild magicians' incompetence. They can't even get ten miles without being caught. I am assuming most of them are incompetent as you?" he said, phrasing the last part as a question.

"More incompetent, probably," Akkarin said with a sigh.

"Well, that's good to hear."

They passed the rest of the journey back in a strange anticipatory silence that Dakova seemed to be enjoying. He would make an occasional remark, usually derogatory in nature, but apart from that didn't explain anything as to what would happen next. Akkarin knew that Dakova knew he must be thinking about it, and therefore this tension was all part of the punishment. Quite creative, really, if you think about it. Let the felon punish themselves.

As dawn slowly approached, and the vast skies above them began to lighten to a deep blue, they arrived back at the camp.

"Come with me, there is something I want to show you." Dakova said mysteriously, but nothing more. The slaves watched as they past back between the tents. Dakova barked at one in Sachakan to take the limek away, and he did so immediately.

As Dakova reached his tent, he stopped and looked back at Akkarin expectantly. Akkarin sighed inwardly, moved forward and held the tent-flap back so Dakova could enter. As Akkarin looked inside, he saw that, for the very first time, the tent was completely empty. As Dakova moved to his chair and sat down, it was obvious there were no women waiting to serve him. No men sat waiting to be drained of power, or waited in the wings with a flask of wine. No, there was no one but Dakova, who was looking at him with amusement,.

"Now as fun as that was, my little pet magician, it appears that I have got to find a way of making you...see reason."

Akkarin held back a hollow laugh. "_Your _version of reason, you mean. It bears absolutely no resemblance to what the sane world sees as reasonable."

"It hardly matters, does it? You're here, in my domain. My reason is the only reason that exists."

"Until I escape properly, that is."

Dakova laughed, but his voice held a hard edge. "Ah, well now we get to it. As I say, I need a way of ensuring that you will never attempt such a thing again. I can't spend my life running after you."

"You're not going to beat me, then? Pity, I was just starting to get used to them."

Dakova shook his head. "No, I am not. I could, but there would be little point, I believe, and it certainly wouldn't work. With another slave, a public beating may well stop them running forever, fear of being hurt is a basic human instinct, after all. But you- you don't seem to...bruise easily." Dakova stood again, and walked towards Akkarin, circling him menacingly. "You're the kind of man who thinks it's weak to experience physical hurt. I like that in a man. In another life, we could have been friends. As it is-"

"As it is we are not friends, for which my conscience gives daily thanks."

Dakova came round to face him and stood in front of him. It gave Akkarin a small satisfaction that he was a good head taller than the man, so got to look down at him. "I think you'll stop making such comments when you realise what punishment you have given yourself." With that, Dakova raised his hand and snapped his fingers once.

The flaps at the back entrance of the tent rustled, and Akkarin heard the approaching footsteps of multiple people. He rolled his shoulder back, preparing himelf for whatever it was he had to face-

-and found himself staring into the wide eyes of Leila.

He looked at her, temporarily confused. Then he noticed the shackles around her feet and her hands being held behind her back by two of Dakova's more heavily built slaves, ones he tended to use as personal bodyguards. Akkarin wondered if the men ever felt any sense of disloyalty towards their fellow slaves for having to bring them to Dakova for punishment, or worse, have to occasionally fight them themselves, but he supposed this place didn't allow for guilty feelings. As Leila's eyes never left him, the pieces of the Dakova's puzzle came to him at last. When they did, he closed his eyes, unable to look at her anymore.

"I see you've worked it out. Good." Dakova moved to Leila and delicately stroked her cheek with a finger before turning back to Akkarin. "Did you think I hadn't noticed, you fool? You thought I hadn't noticed how you always look for her, however discrete you try to be. How you always look up when you hear her voice, however unconsciously it was done?" He started stepping ever so slowly towards Akkarin. "She is mine. I bought her. She belongs to me. And yes, she is something of a favourite of mine, but don't misunderstand- women like her can be replaced. Women as a species are very replaceable- if I start to lose control of one for whatever reason, it will take an hour's work to find one just as pretty and...willing."

In the corner of his eye, Akkarin saw Leila shudder at the last word, but she stayed silent. He could see she was deliberately keeping her breath slow and regular, despite the tight hold she was experiencing.

"So, if I see you anywhere near my woman again, and I-"

"Oh let me guess, she gets killed." Akkarin tried to sound bored and uninterested, hoping that maybe Dakova might think he had got it wrong, that Leila was nothing to him. Predictably that didn't work.

"No, that would be boring. I will do this." Dakova's eyes became distant, then Leila doubled over and let out a howl of pain through gritted teeth. The two men let go of her, and she dropped heavily to the floor, where she curled in on herself and moaned softly until Akkarin couldn't stand it anymore.

"Stop it," he shouted at Dakova. "I understand you, now stop it!"

"Do I have your word, Kyalian?" Dakova said simply, quietly.

Akkarin didn't look at him, eyes transfixed on the pain being experienced on his behalf. "Yes, you have my word. Now release her, she doesn't deserve this."

Dakova crossed his arms over his chest. "I have your word that..."

Akkarin let out a shaky breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "You have my word that I will never try and run again."

"Excellent, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Leila immediately seemed to relax. Her body uncoiled slightly, but she didn't move.

"Get her out," Dakova said to the two men. Unceremoniously, one of the men lifted the now unconscious woman and flung her over his shoulder, and both left in silence.

"Now, I believe it's just about time for you to give me your power. Go fetch my knife, slave- there's still plenty of work for you to do today.

"Yes, Master."

Akkarin stumbled out of the tent, making his way to the back of the tent, where Dakova's numerous evil looking weapons were kept. He barely noticed how he was putting one unsteady foot in front of the other, being completely haunted by the scene he had just witnessed.

He realised he had just seen Hell, and it wasn't a dusty red wasteland. It was the screams of the person you love.

**Yowza**** that got dark!**

**You know, I never expected this fic to be as popular as my first, but so ****far**** I have been astounded by the number of views and reviews! You all are incredibly loyal, which a trait that I hold very highly. ****Y'all**** deserve lots of love, ****Cece****xox**


	12. The Nature of Good

Chapter Twelve: The Nature of Good

One of the things Akkarin had got very good at over the past few weeks was cooking. Since Dakova still considered him something of an absconsion risk, he put Akkarin on cooking duty. Akkarin tried not to look too satisfied with this, Dakova would immediately move him if he thought his pet magician was almost comfortable in a job, but he was quietly pleased at this particular outcome. Takan, too, seemed satisfied with the arrangement. He said he enjoyed the company, and the opportunity to practice speaking Akkarin's tongue- not that he needed the practice as much as Akkarin needed to practice Sachakan.

Akkarin looked over at his friend, the knife he had been using to cut vegetables becoming stilling in his hand in mid-air.

"Can I ask you something?" he said carefully, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen between them.

"Hmm," was the only reply. Takan was focused on the pot in front of him- he had previously explained to Akkarin that the stew needed to be taken off the boil at just the right moment, or the spices would lose their heat, and Dakova would demand it be made again- they both knew that was a risk not worth taking. Since his failed escape, Akkarin had made it his mission in life to avoid Dakova at all possible opportunities. That meant keeping his head down, doing exactly as he was instructed and not over-boiling the food. More lives than just his own depended on his ability to achieve this goal.

He now wondered, however, how to best phrase his query to Takan. "You're clearly strong magically- Dakova drains you twice a day, after all?"

Takan nodded, but didn't look away from the rolling boil in front of him. "Yes, I am. It's one of the reasons that Dakova bought me and has kept me for longer than the typical male slave. That and the fact that I am quite good with food."

Akkarin chucked at the man's inherent modesty. "Nothing quite about it, my friend. The Guild chefs could learn many, many things from you. But, getting back to the point, as you are strong... why didn't anyone offer to teach you how to use magic?"

Takan allowed his eyes to meet Akkarin's briefly, as he stirred the contents of the pot carefully with a metal spoon. "You're assuming with that question that no one did offer to teach me," he answered cryptically, shifting his weight on his knees.

Akkarin felt a deep frown crease his face. "Wait- so someone _did _offer to teach you, then?"

Takan nodded once. "Yes."

Akkarin turned to look at the man more carefully. "And I can only assume that you _turned down_ the offer?"

Another single nod. "Yes."

Akkarin's knife clattered to the rough ground. Though Takan glanced at it disapprovingly, the man was a stickler for hygiene, Akkarin chose to abandon it and came to stand in front of his friend. "Why?! Magic is the only currency of any value in this dark world of yours. Why would you refuse the opportunity to obtain it?!" The words came out far more forcefully than he had meant them to, but Takan's confession had shocked him to his core.

"Firstly, this is _our _world, not just mine," Takan replied, in a voice far calmer than Akkarin's had been. "Secondly, I would politely point out that magic is, as you put it, a currency you have obtained, and yet you are here. Therefore, it doesn't necessarily follow that if I had learnt magic, I wouldn't have ended up here." He looked up at Akkarin, a single eyebrow raised.

Akkarin shook his head immediately at that reply and crossed his arms over his chest. "Our stories are completely different, you can't compare them."

"True, but you are also assuming that I was offered the opportunity to learn magic in a similar culture to your own- with welcoming arms, every comfort given and an authority that every single person recognises bestowed upon you. You have to remember, the Ichani believe that magic should only belong to them, and if they find anyone who can use it, they will...rectify the situation." Takan looked up at Akkarin from his crouch in front of the large pot. "You of all people should know that," he said softly.

Akkarin couldn't argue with that. Still, his mind was reeling now, with all sorts of possibilities. He may have made a vow to Dakova to not try to escape again, and he planned on keeping that promise. But that didn't mean he was completely out of ideas as to how to find a way out of here. After all, there was more than one way to skin a zill... But what would Takan think? Would he even be willing to consider it? Oh, to hell with that. Akkarin realised the idea was simply too good to banish without thought. He crouched on the other side of the pot and looked Takan square in the eye.

"You know, we're talking about this as if it is a possibility that has been and gone," he said in a voice only just above a mummer. "But it doesn't have to be that way. _I _could teach you magic, if you would like."

Takan shook his head violently. "No."

The single syllable was concrete and final. Akkarin was slightly disappointed in the man's immediate refusal, so decided to carry on. "It wouldn't be hard, you know. I've done some teaching before, back at the university, including teaching the first years Control. I could-"

"I said _no! _What part of that don't you understand?" Akkarin had never heard Takan sound so angry. Then Takan cursed violently, having burnt his hand on the pot. He threw down the mental spoon in his hand and paced away, shaking his hand, as if that would dampen down the pain.

Akkarin thought it best to leave the man alone- he had never intended on upsetting him, after all. He had not expected such a reaction from a man usually so calm and collected in his general outlook in life, and felt a wave of guilt realising he was the reason that Takan had lost his composure for the first time since they had met.

He looked at the stew- it looked perfectly done to him. So, as carefully as he could, he took it off the fire and placed it on the boulder with the flattened top that they used as a cooling plate, all the while watching Takan out of the corner of his eye. He saw the Sachakan take several deep breaths, before seeming to mutter something to himself, then uncrossing his arms and walking slowly back to the fire.

"I'm sorry, Akkarin," he said, looking awkwardly at the pot that was steaming cheerily in between them.

Akkarin shook his head and held his hands up in a placatory manner. "No, please, don't apologise to me, Takan, I am the one who should be apologising to you. It's my fault. I shouldn't have questioned you the way I did. I'm sorry for speaking to you in that manner- it was discourteous, and of course, you don't owe my any explanation for any decision you have made."

Takan nodded, seeming to accept the apology. "But I would like to, anyway- explain, I mean," he said.

Akkarin looked at Takan carefully, the nodded. If his friend had decided that he wanted to share his story, it would be rude to refuse. He just hoped the man wouldn't regret it. "Of course, if you feel you would like to."

Takan gestured to the ground, and they both sat. He handed Akkarin the knife he had dropped before, pulled a whetstone from some secret pocket and handed that over as well. He then carried on working on the stew. Akkarin knew the reason behind all this- slaves weren't allowed to just sit and talk. They had to be seen as doing something. So Akkarin started sharpening the knife and waited for Takan to begin.

The Sachakan sighed by way of an introduction. "I understand your perspective, Akkarin, truly- after all, you were born with the same potential I was. You were offered the same choice, to learn magic. You took it, and your life has only made better by it- well, present time excluded."

Akkarin decided not to correct the man, after all, learning magic hadn't really been a choice _he _had made, it was a choice that was made for him, but that seemed unimportant to the story, so he kept his silence.

"But that's where our paths diverge," Takan continued. "In your world, from what I understand, magic is seen by most, if not all, as a good thing. It brings good things. Your healers both literally pull life into the world and have the ability to save it before it departs unnecessarily. Your Warriors defend all the people of the Allied Lands, no matter what their social class or station. Your...oh, chemists? Is that the word?" Takan met Akkarin's gaze with a frown.

"Close enough- they're called _al_chemists."

"Ah, that's it. Your alchemists, they learn about the world around them, and by doing so, can help to make the world more knowable, more controllable. Magic is, in essence, a good thing. But here..." Takan shuddered slightly. "Magic is only used to hurt. Magic is used to kill people, not save them. Magic is used as a form of irregular fighting in order to control people, not as a regular form of defence. Magic here doesn't create knowledge. It creates fear."

Akkarin nodded, but he felt he ought to point something out. "I see all that, I really do, but have you thought that the differences in our views of magic may be because the Ichani use black magic, and the Guild doesn't? I can see why you'd think that magic only does bad out here, but that's because Higher Magic is very, very different to the magic used by the Guild, to do all those things you describe- Heal, defend, explore etcetera."

Takan considered this, but then shook his head. "Is it _really _that different? When it comes right down to it, is the difference between your magic and our magic _that _different? It's all about power, isn't it, and who has it. Besides, I can assure you, I have seen Dakova do things with what you consider to be _proper _magic that would give you nightmares. Blood or no blood, higher powers or no higher powers, magic has not brought my life a single moment of good.

"In the village where I come from, magical ability was...unusual, but not unheard of. The occasional magician from Arvice would turn up at the village, generally at the end of the summer, and would test anyone who wanted to be in exchange for any strength they may possess- but just the once, you understand, these magicians weren't cruel people, just hungry for more and more magical strength. Most people refused, of course, not wanting to know, ignorance being bliss, but when I was fifteen, I agreed."

"Why?" The word came out of Akkarin's mouth before he realised what he was doing.

Takan gave a sardonic smile. "Because I was fifteen. Because I thought I knew better. I didn't see any bliss in ignorance. I thought, back then, that knowledge could only make you stronger. Knowledge, I believed, is..." Takan's voice trailed off, seeming to find it difficult to voice the word.

"...Power," Akkarin breathed, finishing the sentence for him.

Takan nodded. "Exactly. So I presented myself to this magician, who entered my mind. I still remember the look he gave me when he had taken my power and left my mind. He looked surprised, but also concerned. He told me that I was strong, much stronger than the average Sachakan who has magical ability. He said if I had been living in the city, he would have willingly taken me on as an apprentice. But as it was, my ability was not something that was going to help me.

"The magician told me that given my magical ability, I had a choice. He said when an Ichani arrived at the village, which they were bound to do sooner or later, I could either offer myself as a slave, any Ichani would have happily taken me due to my strength, or he could teach me the basics of how to use magic then and there, and I could make myself into an Ichani before any arrived."

Takan put down his spoon and looked at his hands. Akkarin noticed they were trembling slightly. "I disgust myself now by having to say that I considered his offer. In my only defence, I didn't want to be a slave-who would, after all? But then the thought struck me- if I wished to become a true Ichani, I would need to become a Master. I would need slaves and magical power. The only people in my grasp were my fellow villagers, the people I had known all my life. At that thought, I knew I couldn't do it, and rejected the magician's offer. He looked at me as if I was mad, but didn't argue. He left soon after.

"Not long after, an Ichani did arrive, just as the magician had predicted. They killed my family and took me with them. I was sold to Dakova at the very next auction, and the rest has been the same miserable existence, day in, day out, for six years." Takan looked straight at Akkarin then. "It's true, if I had learnt magic, I may not have ended up here, like this." He spread his hands as the inferno around them. "But I would have ended up here, like _him_." Takan pointed towards Dakova's tent. "And that thought is far more terrifying to me than the thought of spending my remaining days here. I may have lost my freedom, but at least I still have my sanity and my conscience." Takan looked up gain and gave a very weak smile. "So, that's it, that's the story of why I won't learn magic."

Akkarin considered his friend, and realised that it had taken quite some courage for Takan to tell him his story. He got up and stepped closer to Takan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think I understand, thank you for telling me all this, I know it can't have been easy. But I hope it's not out of line for me to believe that, no matter the circumstances, you would _never_ have become like _him_."

Takan allowed himself a faint smile. "I appreciate you saying so, but you don't really know that. Fear drives people to all sorts of terrible decisions. We have absolutely no idea what we are capable of doing until we find ourselves on the other side of an appalling choice. Still, I do believe that my desire to be on this side of the story than the Ichani's has saved me- in some ways at least. Come let's finish this before we get in trouble."

Just as Takan was about to step away, Akkarin stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You know, despite what your life has shown you, magic isn't all bad. It can do enormous amounts of good, too, and here, of all places."

Takan frowned at him. "Like what?"

Akkarin reached out, and took Takan's burnt hand in between his. He closed his eyes, and pulled at the small amount of magic available to him and sent it to the man's hand, speeding the process of the skin's cells replacing themselves. It had been so long since he had reason to use it the sensation of magic leaving him at his own will felt strange and unfamiliar, like walking around in a new pair of shoes. Takan flinched slightly and his brows pulled together, but he didn't move out of Akkarin's grasp. Satisfied with his handiwork, Akkarin let go and smiled ruefully at his friend.

"That."

Takan looked at his hand, an expression of amazement on his face. "Thank you," he said breathlessly. He held his hand up to the dying sun, but as he did so, his attention seemed to be caught by something behind Akkarin's shoulder.

"What?" Akkarin asked.

Takan said nothing, but a slight smile had come over his face. He nodded his head in the direction of his gaze. Akkarin turned, and, holding his hand up to shade his eyes from the sun, recognised a very familiar silhouette. She stood on the edge of the little clearing, seeming to be deciding whether to approach or not.

Without hesitation, Akkarin strode straight to her. He was about to take her hands in his, but stopped himself at the last possible moment. They both looked nervously towards the main tent, but all, for the moment, was still. Even so, this was forbidden, and Akkarin knew that Dakova's threats had not been idle.

"You shouldn't be here. Seriously, Leila, if Da-" She silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"Shh," she said, before reaching up and gently kissing him. He stilled, surprised for a moment, then kissed her back. His hands found their way to her hair and curled around her neck before he pulled away slightly.

"What was that for?" he said, not a little breathlessly.

"For what you did, you know when. No one's ever done anything like that for me before."

Akkarin noticed the tear that had escaped down her cheek, and brushed it away with a thumb. "I made the stupid mistake of trying to run away, so Dakova threatened you. No honourable person would done anything else."

She smiled and rested her forehead against his. "Well then you must be the first honourable man I've ever met."

"Are you alright now?"

"As alright as I ever am."

"Good," he said, before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him with a gentle but impervious force. He kissed her more insistently, as he had wanted to do for the best part of a year. She laughed softly but acquiesced before, eventually, pushing him back slightly by his shoulders.

"Got to go," she breathed against his lips. Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone.

**I both love and hate that Trudi left lots of tiny little loose ends that she didn't explain, dotted throughout each of the books. I love them because it allows us to use our imaginations to try to fill in the blanks, but I also hate them because my brain just NEEDS to know what was her version. The reason why ****Takan**** didn't want to learn magic was one of them for me. Love, ****Cece ****xox**


	13. Twenty-Five

Chapter Thirteen: Twenty-Five

On the day that Akkarin was born, the great canons that were positioned on the balustrades of the seat of the Delvons fired a twenty-one gun salute to announce the safe delivery of their new heir to the world. A bit of a ridiculous custom, really, seeing as the canons hadn't been used in warfare for over a century, and anyone who knows anything about new borns will tell you of their dislike for sudden, loud noises. But traditions are traditions.

On the day that Akkarin turned one, his mother sealed an agreement of marriage for him to an Elyne princess, born just three months prior. And when I say sealed, I really mean sealed- the mothers both signed the contract and each added their House incal in traditional red wax, whilst their fathers were off drinking heavily, congratulating each other on finding such ambitious wives. Lady Delvon kissed her son once to wish him many happy returns of the day, but then spent the rest of the day celebrating her great success with friends.

On the day that Akkarin turned two, he fell off the pony he had been given by his father that very day. As his knees bruised and his face crumpled, he had his first rush of realisation that not everything in life was going to come easily to him. Not everything in life was going to go well for him. His father had picked him up roughly and dusted him down. "Now, none of that, my boy," he said, a note of impatience in his tone. "Remember, Delvon boys are brave boys. They aren't afraid of anything." Akkarin never cared much for horses, after that. And he never cried in front of his father ever again.

On the day that Akkarin turned three, when his nurse had taken him and his sister into their parents' living room for the daily viewing, they told him he was going to have another sibling. Hopefully a little brother, they said, wasn't this splendid news? Akkarin had nodded solemnly. They told Akkarin that because he was going to be the eldest of not one but _two_ siblings, it was to be his particular job to help look after them and set a good example to them. _You will be able to do that for us, won't you, dearest?_ He nodded again, it made little enough difference to him. And because that is what three year olds do when all they want is the smallest sign of their parents' approval.

On the day that Akkarin turned four, he thought he felt something…different in his mind. Something he had never felt before. When he focused on it, it was like being able to feel something with his fingers, but not being able to look at it. An invisible, but definite bump in his mind, like the bump that had come up on his knee when he had fallen from his pony. He could make it shift under his probing senses, but it didn't seem to… _do _anything more than that. He thought bout asking his parents about it, but even at the tender age of four he knew that they would promptly dismiss it as "Akkarin being Akkarin". Yet again. So, like any other little boy, he promptly forgot about it. But the bump stayed there at the back of his mind, patiently waiting to be recognised for what it was.

On the day that Akkarin turned five, his nurse had had to scold him for climbing to the top of the tallest apple tree at the bottom of his parents' garden. "Your mother told you very specifically Akkarin- absolutely no climbing. Little boys in your position in life shouldn't have any desire to climb trees!" Akkarin didn't understand- he had managed to climb to the top and back down again without a single scratch, so why was what he had done so very wrong? And besides, as his nurse had said, he had been told _not _to do it, so what other option did he have? It was then that Akkarin realised that just because something isn't against the rules, didn't necessarily mean it was bad. Sometimes rules could be a bit arbitrary in that way. It was up to him to work out what was good and what was bad, and try to live as closely within those lines as possible- rules be damned.

On the day that Akkarin turned ten, when his nurse had led him and his sisters into their parents' living room for the daily viewing, his parents told him he was going to be tested for magical ability by a magician from the Guild. Just a formality, of course, dearest, they had said, his mother having kissed his cheek as a special birthday treat, and his father having sternly shaken his hand. Akkarin had nodded solemnly. It made little enough difference to him, after all. But he was excited for an opportunity to meet a magician, he had never had the chance to speak to one before. Maybe he would have the chance to ask him questions…oh, and maybe the magician would be able to tell him new stories of warrior magicians- Akkarin had grown tired of all the ones his nurse knew. And, Akkarin realised at he had been led away to prepare for bed, perhaps the magician would know what the strange bump in the back of his mind was…

On the day that Akkarin turned fifteen, he spent the day with his new best friend, not doing what he was told in their mathematics lesson. To the teacher's consternation, both the boys were naturals at trigonometry, always able to answer the questions he tried to spring upon them, so he couldn't use their lack of attention as evidence for any lack of skill on their part. Once the lesson was finally over, the infamous gong marking the end of lessons for the day, the boys had run as quickly as they could to the spring, deep in the Guild's forest. Once they were there, Lorlen had pulled out a rectangular package from his satchel and handed it to Akkarin somewhat sheepishly. "It's nothing special, just something to open, to mark the occasion," he had said awkwardly. Akkarin had given him a lop-sided grin and unwrapped the object. In his hands he held a deep red, leather bound notebook with a leather thong holding the pages together, a souvenir from a trip to the Corres Sea where Lorlen's family had spent the break. It became Akkarin's very first diary.

On the day that Akkarin turned twenty, he was just months from complete and utter freedom. Graduation was so close that he could taste it. The final examinations were just around the corner, but, Akkarin being Akkarin, he was confident that he would sail through them without much revision on his part. So, unlike Lorlen, who had locked himself away in his rooms, refusing to see anyone until his final practical test was over, Akkarin had spent the day with a girl that he would go on to regret, in a bed that he would go on to long for. Enya was the kind of girl that Akkarin knew his mother would instantly approve of- impeccable breeding accompanied with intelligence, wit and a fierce loyalty to her Family and House. Lady Delvon would have been more than happy to relinquish her titles one day to this young woman, and indeed would have seen her as almost equal replacement to the Elyne princess that Akkarin had shrugged off. It was for that exact reason that Akkarin knew, even as he held Enya's lean body in his arms, that he would never ask her to marry him. He simply couldn't give his mother the satisfaction

On the day that Akkarin turned twenty-one, he was to be found breathing in the salty sea air, a taste he would forever associate with freedom and anticipation. He was travelling across the Great Sea, headed for Lonmar, his mind full of anticipation for what he might find there. Travelling back and forth across the Allied Lands, he had written to Lorlen that he felt he was currently on the world's largest and most ridiculous treasure hunt. But Lonmar was going to be different. Such a land was a complete mystery to him. The only knowledge he had of it had come from the small number of Lonmar novices he had come into contact with, but they were always quiet and withdrawn around people not of their home, and when they were with others of their race, they spoke their own tongue, making it impossible for Akkarin to catch a glimpse into their world. It is interesting to note at this point, that if we were to look into the future, thirty two years into the future, to be exact, we would be able to see another young man on his twenty first birthday, who too is travelling on a great journey to a land of which he knows nothing. Whilst that is, of course, another story for another time, such a coincidence should not be ignored.

On the day that Akkarin turned twenty-two, he spent the day with the Sachakan sun, hot and strong, on his pack as he helped harvest Dakova's crops. He spent the day straining his memory back, trying to remember every birthday he had ever had and came to, probably easy, conclusion that this one was indeed the worst one he had ever had, by quite a margin. Even putting aside his mother's cold ambition and his father's cold indifference, at least he had been safe. At least he had had clean clothes and a warm bed to sleep in. He didn't allow himself to think about his later birthdays, the ones he had had at the Guild, as those ones had been some of the happiest times of his life. With Lorlen and all their other friends, probably making trouble, probably drinking far more than what was good for them, but also having the opportunity to grow into the people they were supposed to be- that's what the University did, without any of its students noticing. It _nurtured _them- even on their birthdays. No, the contrast between then and now was just too painful to think about. He wondered if he would ever experience such a day ever again, or if he was forever to be trapped here, for however many birthdays he had left. Considering everything, he doubted that would be many.

On the day that Akkarin turned twenty-three, he was once again working, but this time, his head was less full of anger at himself and hopelessness at his situation, and was more pondering all the things that he had learnt since arriving here. He thought about Leila's description of Dakova, of Takan's insights. From that, it was obvious that trying to run away wouldn't have worked. A novice completing their first year Warrior Skills classes could have told him that. But, in Akkarin's defence, all his mind had to do these days was come up with plans to escape. When you're imprisoned, time can draw out like a blade, after all. He knew he had to come up with a better idea, one that wouldn't result in any hurt coming to Leila. That meant he couldn't run away. That left him with one choice- kill Dakova. But how to kill someone who was far more powerful than he was? A phrase kept coming into Akkarin's mind, one that had only been amplified by his discussion with Takan about the nature of magic and how it should and shouldn't be used: _fight fire with fire. _The only way Akkarin was going to be able to get out of here alive was to learn the skill that Dakova was using in order to enslave him. Let's call a spade and spade and say exactly what this means- Akkarin realised his only way of surviving, his only way of saving Leila and Takan and all the others too, was going to have to learn Black Magic.

On the day that Akkarin turned twenty-four, he was still thinking about this. His mind accepted the logic of the solution it had created, but rejected its ethics. His mind went over and over the same qualms. He worried about what his parents would think about such a decision- well, they would have had difficulty understanding how a son of theirs could end up in such a situation, but would have absolutely no hope of understanding of why their son would have to resort to such, quite literally, bloody crimes. Then he worried what the Guild would think, and what they would do if they ever found out. Black Magic had been mentioned a grand total of twice to him since making the Novices' Vow. The first time was in one of his third year Warrior Skills lessons, when they simply told it was banned. Before that, he hadn't even known that such a thing existed, that's how redacted the knowledge was. The second time was when he was about to leave for Elyne, when he was told the exact same thing. Oh, and the added fact that the punishment for just seeking knowledge about it was the little matter of execution. Akkarin had always tried to be a good man, whatever anyone else might say on the matter, and the idea of breaking such a fundamental rule worried him deeply. And even if the Guild, if they found out, were willing to understand and forgive him, given the circumstances, a deeper question was whispered in his mind- would he ever be able to forgive himself?

On the day that Akkarin turned twenty-five, he made up his mind. He decided that he didn't care what his parents thought anymore. The most loving thing they had ever done for him was to give him a twenty-one gun salute. If they wished to judge his morals, they would have to also judge the way their parenting style- or lack thereof, in this case. He also decided he didn't care what the Guild thought- their rules and misunderstanding around Black Magic had led him into the mess in which he now found himself. Twenty years ago to the day, he had been scolded for climbing a tree because he might have been hurt- but the illogic of that rule was that it was based on the premise that he was incapable of climbing the tree without hurting himself. The rules around black magic were based on the misunderstanding that Black Magic necessarily leads to people being hurt. But in reality, Black Magic it is simply an extension of traditional magic to allow for the its storage. That isn't so terrible, is it? If the Guild hadn't put a blanket ban on Black Magic, even a ban on any knowledge relating to it, then maybe he would have been able to protect himself from Dakova's wrath- or maybe he wouldn't have had the hubris to go to Sachaka in the first place. And besides, he now knew? Using that uneasy conclusion, Akkarin decided that if learning black magic was going to be his only way out of here, he only way of helping the people he had grown to love have the chance to leave, then that was what he was going to have to do. At the end of all things, Akkarin was willing to forgive himself if he was able to go home.

**As you can probably tell, this is something of a "montage" chapter. I usually hate montages, they are such a cliché, but I felt we really need to move the story forward. The years Akkarin spent in Sachaka were meant to be very much the same, and therefore it wouldn't make particularly good writing to go over the same things over and over. So, let's press on! **


	14. The Vow

Chapter Fourteen: The Vow

"You've gotten very good you know," Takan said in Sachakan, still working on turning the spit over the roaring fire before him. The mullock looked ridiculously unappealing in its current state, but under Takan's careful administrations, Akkarin knew it would soon be prepared to a state worthy of being eaten by a king.

Akkarin almost allowed himself to laugh at Takan's complimentary words as he worked on the far easier task of cutting loaves of bread. His cooking skills, as well as his language skills, had also improved under Takan's supervision, but they both knew when it came to Dakova's meals, the risks of a badly prepared platter were just not worth taking. "Well, I will never be as good as you, my friend, but I suppose I can get by," he replied in the same tongue. "I will never know how anyone learns languages other than their own so fluently. There's a man who works at the Great Library in Elyne who can speak four languages as if he was a native, how does he do it, do you suppose?"

Takan shrugged, still not making eye contact. Akkarin had noticed over the years that had rolled by that Takan appeared uneasy looking directly at people, so would often appear to be having a conversation with an inanimate object when talking to them. Akkarin didn't question this at all- after all, if he had lived the life Takan had, he too may have issues trusting people enough to look directly at them. "I have heard it said that once you have mastered two languages, other languages become easier. I don't know if that's true, though."

"No, I have heard something similar. At any rate, consider me completely jealous of your language abilities." He looked over at his friend, feeling a pang of fondness at the pride which Takan took in his work. "And I am very grateful too. It may have taken you several years, but I don't believe anyone else could have taught me as well, and with as much patience- I certainly could not have done it. So, thank you."

Takan smiled. "Not at all- it's been…interesting, doing something so completely different to, well, this," he gestured at their surroundings, the never changing landscape of tents and poorly dressed slaves, surrounded by the austere wasteland beyond. "And I have learnt far more about Kyralian culture than I would have otherwise- I don't know when I will be able to put such knowledge to any use, but it was useful just gaining it." He then looked over at Akkarin, giving him a quick glance. "You're going to have to practice, remember- it will all fade away if you just let it slip. Put the knowledge to good use."

Akkarin hesitated, wondering whether this was the right time to bring his idea up. But then again, would there ever be a right time to bring it up? He took a deep breath, deciding it was high time he started to put his plan into action. "Well, actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, actually," he said before he could change his mind.

Takan's eyebrows raised slightly, but he continued to turn the spit. "Oh?"

"I wouldn't mind having your opinion on…something." Akkarin winced at the words, he hadn't meant for them to come out sounding so… _clunky._

"My opinion on what?" asked Takan patiently.

"Black magic- higher magic," Akkarin quickly corrected himself as the shadow came across Takan's face.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Takan's hands came away from the spit and he turned to fully face Akkarin. His fingers flexed slightly as he said slowly, "After all this time, surely you know my opinions on that subject by now. And I thought I knew yours."

"Well, yes, but I suppose…" Akkarin sighed and ran his fingers through his hair with nervous energy. His hair had grown too long and untidy for his liking, and he didn't have the strength or motivation these days to cut it using magic. "I suppose I am wrestling with something of an ethical dilemma," he said eventually, returning to his native tongue. This was going to be a difficult enough conversation without having to be working out translations as he did it.

Takan's eyes narrowed, but his expression gave away nothing as to what was going on in his mind. "Go on," he said, also now speaking in Kyralian.

Akkarin steadied himself with a breath, and started on the argument he had been carefully formulating in his mind for the past few weeks, one he had been repeating to himself in the middle of the cold desert nights when he had started to doubt himself. "Dakova's never going to let me go- he's never going to let any of us go, for that matter."

"No." Takan stated simply.

"And clearly, we can't just run away from this evil place."

"Clearly."

"So, the only way to beat Dakova is to beat him at his own game." Akkarin paused then, and watched Takan's expression. The man's brows creased into a deep frown. They stood in silence together, listening to the fire crackle and the mullock meat start to spit and Takan pulled the pieces of what Akkarin was saying together. After some time, he suddenly looked straight Akkarin, with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"You want to learn—" he began, but then his speech faltered, as if he couldn't bring himself to verbalise the words. He looked at Akkarin with a desperate, pleading expression. _Please don't say it, _his eyes seemed to say. _Please, oh please, don't say it. _

"Higher Magic, yes." Akkarin said softly. He had to say it.

Takan let out a shaky breath, then looked around them. He took the mullock on its spit off the fire, placed it to cool before being sliced up on a wooden board that had been brought out for the purpose. He then took Akkarin by the elbow and all but dragged him backwards to the relatively safety of one of the outer tent's shade.

"Firstly, if you're going to discuss such things, don't do it in broad daylight. You never have any idea who may be watching." He began, sounding not a little breathless.

"Sorry," Akkarin said, abashed, realising belatedly that whilst there was never going to be a good time to have this conversation, there were certainly worse times, and he had accidentally chosen one.

"Secondly, you told me that the Higher Magics were banned in Kyralia. That no Guild magician has used them in hundreds of years."

Akkarin nodded. "Yes, it is, and no, they haven't."

"So if you learn this, and your leaders find out, they could choose to kill you."

"Correct."

Takan stared at him incredulously. "So, why oh _why_ would you learn this, when all that would happen when you got home is that you would be put to death?"

"They would never have to know. I could hide the fact I had the knowledge from them. And I would never use the ability ever again. I only want to use it to set the slaves free, and to go home."

"You would be willing to break your vow? Does it mean so little to you?"

Akkarin found himself slightly irritated at the slightly judgemental undertones to that question. "Takan, we both know that Dakova and Kariko have plans for Kyralia now, now they know that the Guild doesn't teach Black Magic. I have to tell them, so they can prepare. The vow is all about loyalty to the Guild. If I have to break the vow in order to stay loyal to them, yes, I am willing to break it."

Takan didn't move or speak for a good few minutes. He stared at the ground, his fingers, bearing the scars of cuts and burns after years and years of cooking with less than quality utensils, twisted themselves into knots. He eventually let out a small huff, as if seeming to find some agreement with his conscience, and said, "I can see that, and I can accept that- whether they would is another question, but one I cannot answer, so I will leave it. But why are you coming to me with this? It's not like I can teach you what you wish to learn, after all."

Akkarin had been prepared for such a question. "Two reasons, really. The first is- well, I trust you, Takan. You are clearly a man of conscience, of strong moral integrity. I need to know- if I did manage to succeed in doing this, would you consider less of me? Would I…" Akkarin struggled to voice the words, emotion having crept into his thoughts more than he had expected it would. "Would you think I was like _them_?"

"To answer that, I have to ask you two hypothetical questions. The first; if you are to learn this art, will you take slaves?"

Akkarin felt physically ill at the question. "No! Of course not!"

"Good. And the second; if you are to learn this, would you do your best to free Dakova's slaves before you made your escape?"

"That is my intention, yes. If I am gifted the ability to set myself free, it is only right I do the same for all of us."

Takan took in a deep breath. "If you mean what you say- that you only intend to use this power to escape, will never use it again, will not take slaves and free all the saves you can in the attempt, then I can safely say no, I will not think less of you. No, I would not think you are like _them. _But you realise that, in all likelihood, this plan won't work?"

Akkarin felt tension he hadn't realised his body had been holding release as he heard Takan's words. The man's acceptance meant more to him than he had consciously accounted for. His conscience, which had been hammering away at him since this plan had first come into his head so long ago now, felt slightly eased. But Takan had also raised an important point. "Yes, I know."

"And more than that, you will probably die in this attempt- Dakova won't see you as a pet once he realises what he is up to. He will see you as an uncontrollable threat, but one he can easily get rid of."

"I would rather be dead than continue life in this way. I have already thrown away over four years of my life here- I simply cannot bear to give Dakova anymore than I already have- I mean, just think of all the things I could have achieved in these four years. Published my book, perhaps been given more responsibility, maybe even started a family…"

"So rather than waiting it out, you would rather give him the satisfaction of killing you instead if this fails? As well as the years he has taken from you?" Takan asked, an eyebrow raised.

Akkarin shrugged. "We both know he's going to kill me anyway- it's just a question of when. When my power eventually fades, or when he gets bored of me. This way, I get to control the timing."

Takan nodded. "I hadn't thought about it in that way, but that's a fair point. And what was your second reason for talking to me about this?"

Akkarin blinked at the sudden change in the conversation, but then realised what Takan was referring to. "Oh, yes…well, this is a far more practical question. How do you think I should…go about learning it?"

Once again, Takan looked around them conspiratorially. He moved closer to Akkarin and pulled them both down into a crouch. Then he murmured softly, so softly Akkarin could barely hear him, "Well, to answer that, I have to ask…have you ever heard of a group called The Traitors?"

* * *

"You can't be serious." The words were spoken with a mixture of incredulity, contempt and horror.

"Leila—" Akkarin said, trying to placate her. He attempted to place his hands on her upper arms, but she easily batted them to the side and turned away from him, her hair flared around her shoulders as she did so.

She shook her head, to herself more than to him, it seemed. "No, it's not that you're not serious, it's that you must have gone mad. This place has finally got to you and sent you over the edge." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked stoically down at the floor. She crushed a large lump of sand beneath her foot with a sandal that had seen far better days.

Akkarin walked around so he was facing her. With his thumb and forefinger, he lifted her chin so she had no choice but to look at him. "Leila, I need you to listen to me. I am perfectly sane and perfectly serious. I mean to do this."

She glared at him in an accusatory way. "You want to become one of _them_?"

His thumb ran over the softness of her lower lip, "No, I want to be free. I want _all of us_ to be free. I am the only person here who can do this, because I am the only magician. It's up to me to bring Dakova to justice, don't you see?"

She looked at him for a good long while, a deep sadness in her golden eyes. She reached up and ran a finger down the coarse hair that was now a permanent fixture over his jaw. "Is there anything I can do, anything I can say at this point that would deter you?"

He slowly shook his head, and attempted a weak smile. "No."

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together tightly at the words. "If you love me, you will promise me you won't do this," she said, seeming to try one last attempt at emotional blackmail.

"And if _you_ love _me_, you wouldn't ask me to make such a promise," he replied softly. Her shoulders drooped at that. She looked genuinely heartbroken, and he felt an intense guilt for that- he had had no idea she would feel so strongly about it. "But I will make you _this_ promise: I vow on the honour of the Guild, of my Family and House that I will _never _become like them. I will only use this power to help people."

He could see her quietly considering that, so he kept his peace. She then ran her hands down his arms and wrapped her fingers around his. "And will you promise to never teach this to another? You have to end this cycle, Akkarin. If you are to do this, then this has to end here and now- with you."

That seemed a reasonable enough request. "Fine- I also vow to you that I will never teach it to anyone else- the secret will die with me."

She nodded her acceptance of that remark, but still looked far from at peace with his decision. In fact, he could see tears welling up behind her eyes. When one escaped, he gently brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. She looked as if she had told him he was going away that very moment, and never coming back.

"Is there anything I can, anything I can say at this point that would help you be alright with this?" he said, leaning forward to rest his forehead against her own. He felt her shake her head against his at the question.

"There is honour to this kind of life, you know?" she whispered, and he felt the breath of her words against his skin.

"You're going to have to explain that one to me," he frowned, not understanding.

She pulled back a little to look at him thoughtfully. "When you took your vows, when you joined the Guild, didn't you feel a certain satisfaction in giving your life to the service of something greater than yourself?"

He looked at her carefully, his frown only deepening. "Please don't tell me you think of Dakova as a service greater than yourself?"

Leila opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, before trying again. "I don't see him as a good person- obviously, he isn't. But I do recognise the authority he has. In this world, in this place, he is like one of your Higher Magicians. Serving him is the same as serving them. There is honour in that, if you know where to look. Do you understand."

He decided now was not the time to argue with her. He pushed a stray hair our of her face. "If you say so."

Leila sighed, and looked away once more. "I had hoped you would see it. That you would be able to find your peace with this way of living. After all this time, I thought you might have…But I suppose that was always foolish of me…" She paused and straightened, looking at him carefully, a calculating look in her expression. "Well, if you are going to insist on doing this, then there is something we need to do first, before you change."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, wondering if this was the last opportunity he would ever have to do so. "I told you, I won't change. I won't let it make me any different to the man in front of you right now."

She looked at him with deep affection- he felt his heart squeeze at the sensation, no one had ever looked at him with that intensity before. "I believe that you truly believe that, and it is to your credit. But enough of this for now- as I say, there is something we need to do."

Before he could say "what?" she had reached up and kissed him, a hand around the back of his neck. This kiss felt different to the ones they had previously shared. It was deeper, more insistent, more urgent. With her guidance, Akkarin allowed himself to be backed towards a tent.

**Nothing new to report to you guys, just my evergreen, very loud and obnoxious love for y'all. Particularly for my reviewers. Taking time out of your day to tell someone what you thought about their art makes you a very, very special person. Love, Cece xox**


	15. The Death of Innocence (A Prologue)

Chapter Fifteen: The Death of Innocence (A Prologue)

_"So, do we have a deal, then, Kyralian? It's the best you'll get from me, I can assure you of that."_

_Despite having thought this decision through so very carefully, having discussed it so very minutely with the two people currently in his life that were of importance to him, Akkarin was still hanging on the edge of this dilemma. Back and forth his mind went, back and forth, a pendulum swinging between what was right and what was necessary. The pale moonlight, and the blood-curdling sounds of Sachakan war cries in the far distance only added to the terror of this situation. Just two miles away, Dakova was currently holding a great Meet of the Ichani, or at least as many as were willing to meet, and they were all very much getting into the hunting spirit. Their shouts and chants carried easily on the night air. But Akkarin wasn't going to complain too loudly about such a gathering- it had given him his first chance to get away since Takan had given him the instructions he needed to get to the next stage of his great plan. _

_But by the eye, despite everything, his mind couldn't help but stop and wonder- how had he allowed his life to get to this spine-chillingly bad moment? For a strange and hysterical, brief and shining moment, Akkarin forgot everything that happened over the past few years, and began to wonder if this was all a dream, a terrible dream from which his mind refused to awaken. Or maybe he had simply sunk into a swirling void of madness and this was all some psychotic hallucination. Maybe he was just one eye blink away from the safety of the Guild- instead being battered by a strong Sachakan wind, maybe he was truly feeling a gentle breeze whistling through the Guild's perfectly kept gardens. But no- he could feel his fingers trembling, and his breath coming in shaking shudders that he had to try to quieten. This was all too real to be a dream, too real to be a hallucination. Also- in real life, the last thing Akkarin ever wanted to be seen as was a coward. __Even if you are afraid, don't you dare show it… __But right now, he was one, for all the world to see. Oh, what to do, what to do?!_

_A sigh cut through his frantic thoughts, pulling him back to the present with a solemn gravity. "I don't have all night, boy- and neither do you, come to think of it. Speak quickly- do we have a deal?" The voice was harsh and low, sympathy or patience were not easy to display when using the language of Sachaka. A language which Akkarin knew all too well now, a language where there is no word for "please", no word for "thanks". Not even a word for "sorry". Akkarin let the man's words drink in, then bristled inwardly._

_Boy?! I am no boy anymore, I am twenty-five. But then again, this man could well be double that…_

_Despite the implicit insult to his maturity, the voice had managed to bring Akkarin's spinning mind to a pause and brought him back to the present- as much as it didn't want to be there. Akkarin breathed deeply and forced himself to consider the man that he had, through some miracle, been able to find. Badly cut grey hair fell into his matching grey eyes. He was old- certainly double Akkarin's age, and that alone made the man unusual in the Sachakans he had met. Due to the harshness of life out here in the wastes, most people died young, either from disease, malnutrition, or, of course, having their life force dragged from them by a greedy master. On top of all this, the man was clothed better and in better physical condition than any of the slaves in Dakova's camp- including Akkarin himself. Through the patronage of the so-called Traitors, this man had somehow not only survived, but had learnt the skill that the Ichani considered to be their greatest asset. Akkarin briefly considered asking him how he had managed to make all this happen, and also how he had found the courage to learn it, but knew the man would either refuse to answer or would give him a lie. You don't survive out here by giving out your secrets, Akkarin was starting the long, painful process of learning. _

_As his companion's eyes continued to lock with his own unwaveringly, Akkarin pulled his mind away from the person and angled it towards offer, turning it round and around in his mind, like how a child might turn a shiny penny round and around between their fingers, examining every gleam and texture. A somewhat insubordinate part of Akkarin's mind caught onto that simile. __Come to think of it, when was the last time I held a penny, even saw a penny? Was it when I was in Lonmar?_ Then the obedient part rolled its metaphorical eyes at his procrastination. _Oh, stop, enough- focus! The deal. You need to think about the deal he just put in front of you. You need to decide whether it is something you can commit to, and you don't have time to pretend this isn't happening._

_So his insubordinate part was brought into line. Weighing up the positives and negative of such a choice, and also considering the choices he had in front of him, it appeared to him that this was, almost, a good deal. In fact, it was far better than anything else he had been truly expecting to get. Knowledge in exchange for knowledge, it was far enough. It would take a few weeks, a maximum of a month to achieve, and then he would be on his way home. Simple. But Akkarin, for better or for worse, was hesitating. He forced his mind to ask himself the difficult question- __why__? Why was this proving to be such a difficult arrangement to agree to?_

_The answer came out of nowhere and hit him almost as hard as Dakova had done not two hours past._

_It was because, deep in his bones, Akkarin knew he really couldn't do this. It didn't matter how desperate he was, or how dire the situation was for other people, he really, really shouldn't even be considering this. I mean, __black magic__\- just the name sounds awful, doesn't it? When it had just been a theoretical possibility, it hadn't seemed quite so terrible. But now, the possibility was no longer theoretical but physical, brought into reality by the man in front of him, and it now seemed too dark to even contemplate. His conscience was revolted that it had even been put in a position to be thinking about this. _

_But Akkarin also knew, deep in his soul, that despite the screaming protests he could hear in the back of his mind, even with Leila's pleading fresh in his memory, that he was going to do it anyway. Because he really, really had absolutely no other choice in the matter. __Higher magic__, that was a better way of thinking about it. If in doubt, just reframe the narrative in which you are working. Almost anything can be seen as moral as long as look at it in the right way…_

_Yes, his mind said to bolster his doubting conscience, he __had__ to do this. Any person in their right mind would say exactly the same thing. And his reasons were not purely selfish, after all: He had to help the other slaves, he to get back to Guild as soon as possible to warn them that people that they considered harmless could kill them whenever they saw fit. In short, Akkarin had to survive so that other people could too. The rest of it, right now, was just detail that he could deal with later. I will think about it tomorrow, he decided, I will think of a way of ensuring this stays a secret then, when it's too late to change my mind. _

_But that doesn't negate the fact that the Guild says that black magic is a crime. If they ever find out, they will be horrified. They will surely kill me on the stop. And they will never believe that I may have learnt it with good intentions, fear will blind them. _

His tired mind, both spurred on by the terror of the moment and in response to his thoughts going back and forth, back and forth _yet again, _seemed to finally snap. Like a rope that has been stretched one to many times, it finally broke. And finally, _finally,_ _it told him the exact words that he needed to hear in that moment- __I don't care- not anymore__. __I don't care about the Guild's laws- not anymore.__I don't care if they don't believe me- not right now. I will have to cross that bridge when it comes to it.__Maybe it will never happen, there's no reason for them to find out! And after all, what is more important, staying alive and keeping other people alive, or obeying a law simply because it exists?_

_There were no more thoughts to have on the subject. Akkarin had thought through his situation now from every angle a dozen times and he finally allowed himself to conclude that it was time to stop thinking and to start doing. So, girding himself on with this resolve, Akkarin took a deep breath, and made a decision that would set his life on a different path to (almost) everyone else he knew forever. A decision he would later pay for with his own blood._

"_Alright then, whoever you are, we have ourselves a deal," he said firmly, into the chilly darkness of the desert night. "I agree you all your terms. Let's just do this before I change my mind."_

_The man's eyes narrowed, the wrinkles in his skin deepening. "I teach you this—" he said, pointing a finger first at himself, then at Akkarin. He seemed to want to check that his deal was completely understood. __Fair enough, I suppose__, Akkarin thought. Another important lesson in staying alive- always check the other person understands the rules of the game you are both playing. _

Akkarin held up a hand. "_And I will kill Dakova, will free as many of the slaves as I can, then I will go to the place you have called __Sanctuary __and will teach your women the ability to Heal with magic" he interrupted. "Yes, we understand each other. Like I say, I would quite like to get on with this now."_

_The older man simply nodded. "Good," he said shortly, and briefly turned away. He didn't reach out to shake Akkarin's hand as one might expect when two members of the Allied Lands strike a deal. But that wasn't out of rudeness, Akkarin knew, and he had learnt from Takan to expect it. He knew that Sachakans never touched other people unless they absolutely have to. They especially don't touch those from other races, who they consider to be unclean. A Kyralian might consider this impolite but, really, it was because of the Sachakan War and the creation of the wastes that Sachakans hated foreigners so much, so really, they can't complain._

_The sound of metal sliding over metal reached Akkarin's ears. A twinge of fear knotted his stomach, but he forced himself to push it as far down as possible. He had not let fear get the better of him yet, and he wasn't about to start now. When the Sachakan turned back, he was holding a knife in one hand and its sheath in the other. He dropped the sheath to the dusty ground and inspected the sharpness of the blade. It was of a simple design, for which Akkarin was grateful- it was nothing like the malicious curved specimen that Dakova carried out with him with such pride. Even so, despite this slight relief, he took in the scene in front of him as he if were a spectator, not a participant. _

_How strange this chapter of my life is- this man is about to change my whole life, and I know nothing about him. I do not even know his name. Maybe I should ask him, I may regret not doing so later…_

"_Are you ready?" the man said in a steady voice. Akkarin was glad to see that at least one of them was feeling calm despite the unfurling situation. He was irritated that the fear he had tried to quash was still with him. He crossed his arms over his chest to hide his trembling hands and widened his feet into a steadying stance._

_Far too late for such questions now. Time to break one of the Guild's strictest laws._

He nodded his head once to signal the man to continue, his eyes focused on the blade. "Go on."

His makeshift teacher, too, nodded. "Then listen closely, Kyralian, because I am only going to say all this once, and we don't have time for mistakes. I hope for all our sakes you are a fast learner." Luckily for Akkarin, he was. He may not have always been the most conscientious of students, but he always made sure he was one of the best. "I want you to think about the way a magician can shape and manipulate stone."

Akkarin looked at the man curiously, then decided he wasn't currently in a position to argue with the man's teaching methods. He thought back to the Alchemy Lessons he had had on shaping stone- they had taken place in Third Year, if he remembered correctly. They been more theoretical than anything else, but he could still remember the basics of what the teacher had told them. "Alright, I remember that," he said eventually.

"Good. Now I want you to think of the human body as being like a stone, as they both contain a mass of magical energy within. Obviously the body is different because it has a natural barrier around it, protecting the magic from outside sources- until the barrier is breached, at least. Now, Higher Magic is like this…"

After what was probably only quarter of an hour, the moon had only moved a small fraction across the dark sky, the Sachakan stepped away from Akkarin, sheathed his knife, brushed the dried blood from the new cut on his wrist and crossed his arms over his chest with a small noise of satisfaction. "Well, that's it. Congratulations, Kyralian- you are now a Black Magician. How do you feel?"

Akkarin stared at the man, absently rubbing at his own small cut that the older man had made in the bend of his arm- he had chosen for the man to demonstrate on him somewhere Dakova wasn't going to notice- not immediately, anyway. "Wait- that can't be all of it, surely? There must be more!"

The Sachakan didn't exactly glare at Akkarin, but the expression on his face wasn't exactly happy either. "What you have just done, that is higher magic. Think about it," he replied evenly.

So Akkarin did. He considered his power- he was slightly stronger than he had been before he had cut through the man's skin. It was only a small difference, but even that difference was greater than the one he would have had in the same time period just from his natural build-up of strength. And strength had once belonged to the man in front of him- the thought made him feel slightly sick. But no, he had to remind himself, the man had given that power of his own volition, he had not been forced. Even so, what he had done was what the Guild called _Black Magic, _and he could never take that back. He cut through someone's skin and, with his blood, had taken his power and added to his own. That was the skill he innocently had chased across the Allied Lands- oh, if he had only known what he knew now, and he would have run in the opposite direction. But there was no running to be done now: now, he was a Black Magician, and that was not something that could ever be undone.

But he still had questions- was there a way of taking power quicker from the same size cut, or did you have to create a larger break in the barrier? And were there other ways of breaking the barrier, rather than with a blade? After all, what if you didn't have one?

"But what about—" he began, but the older man cut him off immediately.

"No- we don't have time for any further explanation. The basics will have to do. For what you have set out to do, you know enough- trust me. The rest you'll just have to figure out as you go along." His expression then changed to one of thoughtful interest, with perhaps a hint of amusement. "Good luck to you, Akkarin. I look forward to seeing you again when you come to uphold your side of the deal. We will hear when you have completed your task successfully, and will be expecting you in Sanctuary within a month of that day. Until then, fare well." The man looked like he was about to leave, then stopped and turned around again. "If you do this, you will have rid the world of one of its most dangerous enemies. But you realise that even if you do succeed, which is quite unlikely, you will have made yourself an personal enemy that may even be greater than this one?" And with that, without waiting for Akkarin to respond, the Traitor's messenger slipped away into the night, and Akkarin was left standing alone in the dark, alone except for this new knowledge that weighed upon him like a millstone, and the absolute certainty he would live to regret this night for the rest of his life.

_Oh, what have I done?_

**As you can tell, I have used an adjusted version of one of my chapters from Fic 1 in order to complete this, adjusting it to fit more neatly with Trudi's story in TTST. Yes, I have some reservations about it, but hold your judgements. I have an idea to make the story work a bit better. ALSO: next chapter could be a bit late because I am on my holidays without a laptop for a few days, but I shall return! Love as ever, Cece xox**


	16. It Was All Smoke And Mirrors

Chapter Sixteen: It Was All Smoke and Mirrors

Akkarin woke.

_Where am I?_

His first sensation was strong sunlight burning behind his eyelids. As he opened them and grimaced, he realised it wasn't the pleasant Kyralian dawn sort of light that greeted him, but a blood-red, vicious, suspiciously Sachakan sunset. That should have been his first clue, really, looking back on it all.

_What happened last night?_

His second sensation, and indeed his second clue, was the sand between his fingers as he stretched them experimentally. Nothing seemed to hurt, not yet anyway, so he sat up slightly, and took in his surroundings. It was then that the penny finally dropped.

He was still here. After all this time, how _could _he still be here?

The nightmare five years in the making, the nightmare that would never end. But then what happened last night finally came back to him, in a messy hazy blur that he struggled to decipher. But he remembered enough to know that things were...different. The game had changed.

_Or maybe the rules haven't changed, but the players certainly have... _

The wastes went on for miles in every direction. Not a single hill, not a single valley, interrupted their desolate sovereignty across the landscape. As he looked at them appreciatively, a distinctly uncomfortable feeling grew inside him. The feeling that he really ought to be somewhere that was not here... but couldn't for the life of him remember _why_. He decided he really needed to figure this out, despite the pounding in his head and the sense of foreboding in a much deeper, darker part of him.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to remember.

"What are you doing here?!" An incredulous voice asked- but so focussed was he that he didn't know if it came from within him or from the outside world. But it was a voice that made his heart leap and his blood race through his veins.

He opened his eyes and saw a woman moving quickly towards him. She grasped his arms and pulled him to his feet with strength that would have surprised anyone who didn't know her. "Dakova will kill you if he finds you here- you're supposed to be in the mines!" Large, amber, terrified eyes looked deeply into his own.

He couldn't help but smile at her- how had he forgotten quite about beautiful she was in such a short space of time?

"Leila," he breathed. "I'm so pleased to see you." He reached forward and curl a strand of her hair around his finger. He drank the sight of her in as if she was an oasis and he a man an hour from death by dehydration. Every inch of her was as perfect as the picture his mind had painted of her, despite the scars that criss-crossed across her caramel skin, and the bright gold of her clothes that singled her out as a pleasure slave.

"Akkarin, are you listening to me?" she asked sternly, tightening her grip on his arms, the bangles on her wrists jangling as she did so. "You have to get back to your work station- he'll be out here any minute."

"No, Leila. There's something I have to do."

"What?!"

He looked at her gently. "You know what. We've discussed it at great length."

Her expression went from one of anxiety to one of barely concealed desperation. Looking back at the tent, she took his hand and dragged him into a run, leading him away from the clearing where he had woken to the collection of tents that stood a little away from the one she had left. Choosing a tent that was as far out of site of that one as she could, she dropped to a crouch behind it, and he followed suit. She looked around carefully, then turned to look right into his eyes.

"You did it then?"

Akkarin didn't say anything, but nodded slowly.

She sighed. "I thought there was something different about you. Thank you for being honest. But now is really not the time to try out this new skill of yours."

"Why?"

"Because he's not happy today. He didn't get what he wanted from the meet last night."

Akkarin scoffed. "What should his mood have anything to do with it?!"

She looked at him as if she thought that was the stupidest question she had ever heard. "Because when he's in a bad mood, he is unpredictable. You need to catch him when you know exactly what he is going to do next."

"Okay then, when is he ever in what you would call _not _a bad mood?_"_

"Never, I suppose- but he's at his least unhappy when he's been…satisfied, shall we say."

She turned to look back at the quiet campsite behind them. It was then Akkarin first noticed the bruise on her cheek bone. He felt his hands ball into tight fists at the sight. "He hit you again, didn't he?"

She nodded without hesitation, without even glancing at him. "Of course."

He reached out to gently touch her face. "I could –"

She pushed his hand away with a forceful shove, still watching the tent intensely. "No. You know that Davoka would notice. And besides, he'd know you are the only person who could do it."

For reasons he couldn't quite understand, he found the calmness in her voice infuriating. "Why do you put up with it, Leila?" he snapped without thinking. "Why? I'll never understand it."

She finally pulled her eyes away from their target and looked at him, a gentler expression softening her features. "Because it's my job to put up with it."

He realised he had been too irritable in his last response and regretted his tone- but he stood by his words. "No, it isn't."

Leila sighed patiently. "We've been over this, Akkarin, so many times. You're not from here- you do not understand our ways. People like me- we don't get to choose our fates. Men like him do. And there's nothing you nor I can do to change that."

As her eyes once again left is, he continued to gaze at her. "Isn't there?"

As if on cue, the tent flap opened once again. An all too familiar broad man of sachakan descent strode out. Akkarin instinctively flinched at the sight of him. Opulent jewellery covered almost every bare patch of skin, and the scarlet hue of his jacket pointed him out as an important man. An important man with a deep-set scowl penetrating every feature of his face. He was still buckling his infamous curved knife to his waist as his voice roared across the landscape.

"LEILA!" he bellowed into the stillness of the camp. He began to stride towards the other row of tents, and the woman tensed by Akkarin's side. She turned once again to look at him.

"Run- Akkarin," Leila implored him, a pleading look coming into her eyes now. "Run before he catches us. I'll cover for you."

But Akkarin held his ground. "No- I won't leave you. Not like this."

Leila twisted around and took his hands tightly, almost painfully, in her own. "He will _kill_ you if he finds you insubordinate, you _know that_\- he won't do that to me. He'll just do…other things. Things I am used to by now."

Akkarin couldn't think of anything to say that could possibly persuade her, but he knew he had to try. "But—"

She let out an explosive, exasperated breath and threw his hands away. "Oh, you stupid man! Will you ever learn?! Just _go_, this isn't the moment for your Kyralian heroism"

He took her face between his palms and made her look at him, and was satisfied to see deep affection in her eyes, as well as fear. "This…this skill I have learnt doesn't just have to benefit me, you know," he said softly. "`You could come with me. We could get away from here."

She almost smiled at that, but the slight curl of her lip didn't reach her eyes. "No- I couldn't."

He forced himself to remain calm, despite the time pressure he was under. "Why ever not?"

"Because this is the only life I have ever known. You? you have known better. And deserve better." She spoke clearly, deliberately, as if trying to convince herself as with, then pulled his hands away from her face and pushed at him slightly. "Run, Akkarin! And make sure my sacrifice is not in vain."

With that, Akkarin leaned forward and pressed his lips hard against hers. Leila froze for a fraction of a second, then kissed him back. It only lasted the length of a heartbeat, but they were able to say everything they didn't have time to in that simple kiss. Then Akkarin pulled away, did as he was told and ran.

"Akkarin?"

He turned, with a desperate hope she might have changed her mind. "Yes?"

"You remember your promise, don't you?"

With one last imploring look, Akkarin nodded, then darted away.

It would be turn out to be the last time he ever saw her.

Keeping low behind the tents, he made it to the other side without being seen- if his plan was to work, he needed to remain unseen, but close enough to know exactly what Dakova was doing. In horror, Akkarin could only watch as Dakova's face snapped over to where Leila was as she slowly rose from behind her tent. He stalked over, and grabbed her by her arm, pulling her back in front of the tents.

"Ah, there you are, my pretty one," he snarled. Even from this distance Akkarin could make out the spittle forming at the sides of his mouth.

Leila immediately did the only sensible thing she could. She got down on her knees to before him and brought her head to the level of his feet. "Master, I apologise," she said desperately. "I needed to—"

"Oh, do shut up, I really can't deal with your high-pitched whining. Where's that lover of yours? My pet magician has apparently decided to go rogue on me."

"But I don't k—"

A slap, like the crack of a whip, echoed across the campsite. It was impossible not to wince at the sound.

"Oh, please master, don't—" Leila whimpered, trying to back away as discretely as possible. But Dakova wasn't having any of it- he grabbed her by her hair and pulled her back with a yelp from her.

"I'm sorry, when did I start taking requests from whores? Tell me Leila, what exactly is the point of you if you don't do as you're told?"

"But I have never disobeyed you! You know that!"

From Akkarin's vantage point, he could just hear the sigh, a sigh so soft and yet so menacing. "Oh Leila, Leila, if only that were true. And you know what I do to disobedients, don't you?"

The sound of a blade being removed from a scabbard, and Akkarin made himself back away. No- no this couldn't be happening. Leila had said herself that Dakova would never do it, and Akkarin had allowed himself to leave her by agreeing with her.

But as he realised it was happening and he was utterly powerless to stop it, he did something he would go on to regret for the rest of his life- he turned around, closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears.

But not before he heard a woman's voice screaming behind him.

So it seemed they had both been wrong about what Davoka would do to her.

The only thing that was worse than the screaming was the silence that followed when Akkarin finally made himself pull his hands away from his ears. It was like a suffocating smoke, tasting of death and defeat.

Leila was gone. Gone. _GONE!_

Oh what was the point, anymore? Really, what was the point?

_Make sure my sacrifice is not in vain._

Leila's final words drifted back to him, as if they were been spoken aloud once again. But those shouldn't have been her last words. Oh, he should never have left her! He should have known Dakova's cruelty ran deeper than the blood in his veins, and now he had won this round.

_And I can't stop him. _

Then something…happened. It had been coming on so gradually he had hardly noticed it. But then, as suddenly as waking from sleep, he felt it. A raging, burning, white hot anger. It was building from the put of stomach re-energising him, pushing him back to fight, echoing deep inside him.

_Or… can I?_

Akkarin had been angry before of course- he had been angry when Dakova had first attacked him out in the wastes some five years ago. He had been incensed when he had been taken prisoner, enraged when he had been made a slave- not that it had helped him, but this. This was something else. To be responsible for the death of his beloved? The truest lover he had ever had? Now his feelings were beyond anger, rage or whatever term you like to call it. He _was _anger. He _was _rage. He _was _revenge.

With this new found determination, Akkarin turned back around towards the campsite. To his surprise, but also quiet relief, Dakova had disappeared. Akkarin silently slunk towards the main tent, assuming it was the only place he could have gone. Calculating quickly, he decided to go in through the back entrance of the tent, hoping that there wouldn't be anyone there at this time of day.

His hopes were groundless. As he peered around the edge of the tent to look inside the flap, he could see two male slaves, sitting in the small make shift entrance to the main part of the tent. They were talking quietly, too quietly for Akkarin to make out their words. As he watched them, he realised he had absolutely no choice in what he had to do next.

Looking around, he hunted for something he could use as a weapon. The only thing that he could see that had the faintest chance of working was one of the tent peg. Carefully, so as not to unbalance the entire structure, Akkarin pulled the nearest peg out of the ground and left the material it held softly fall. Now he was exposed, and he had no choice but to finish what he had started.

Without giving himself time to think, Akkarin flung open the flap to the tiny space the two men occupied. They looked at him, startled beyond the ability to speak. Akkarin took advantage of their shocked state, grabbed the man nearest to him and sunk the tent peg deep into his neck. The man only twitched slightly before going completely limp. With perfunctory skill, Akkarin closed his eyes and drained the man of the small magical strength he had within him. It was so incredibly easy.

When he opened his eyes, Akkarin saw the second man staring at him in absolute horror. Akkarin could guess the man's thoughts- one entrance was blocked by the crazed man with a bloody tent peg in his hands, the other had another crazed man with far superior weaponry on the other side. Some choice.

Akkarin decided to put the man out of his misery. He launched himself at the man and, as easily as he had killed and drained the first, killed and drained the second. No words had been exchanged throughout the entire scene, and now that Akkarin was standing there alone, breathing slightly heavily, two bodies at his feet, he felt…strangely emotionless. As if he had left the thinking part of his mind behind and only the survival instinct remained.

Now for the hard part.

He pulled back the second entrance of the tent- the one that led to the main canopied area. As he eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw Dakova sitting in his usual seat- alone. He was leaning forward in a slouch, a half empty wine glass held precariously in his hands. For the first time since Akkarin had laid eyes on him, he looked tired. Suddenly, he looked up, and met Akkarin's eyes immediately.

"So, you are here. But of course you are."

"Yes, of course I am."

Dakova took in Akkarin's measure, eyes lingering on the bloodied piece of metal in his hand most of all.

"My suspicions were correct, I see. I tried to warn them, you know. I had a feeling that there was something different about you now, but did they listen?" he snorted with derision. "Of course not, the fools. And now, here you are, ready and able to kill me." He glanced away and swirled the liquid around inside his glass. Akkarin wondered just how drunk he was, he had never seen Dakova so…causal. "Can I admit something to you, Kyralian?"

"I'm not sure I have much choice."

Dakova ignored that. "I am, actually, not a very good magician. This is all…" he sighed and waved his hand around their surroundings, "show. It was all smoke and mirrors. That is what I am good at. Remember that," he looked Akkarin in the eye, locking onto his gaze with force. "You are a talented magician, that is obvious, but if you want people to _fear _you, to be _intimidated _by you, you have to add the element of _mystery _to the craft."

"I don't want people to fear me."

Dakova smiled. "You say that now, Kyralian, but it may not be a case of you wanting it. It may be a case of you _needing _it. While I have the chance I should warn you about my brother. If I get killed, he had sworn to avenge my death. And he is a far, far better magician than I could ever be. And he is planning on ruling Kyralia one day. Just a tip."

Then Dakova drained he glass and rose, looking at Akkarin expectantly. "Now I believe it is time. Time for the passing of the flame. Time for the slave to become the Master."

Akkarin was confused- _is he letting me kill him?_

Dakova shrugged. "There is no way I can defeat you- not now. And I would much rather meet death as an old friend than run away from it like some scared child. Get on with it, then."

Akkarin considered his options- he needed to kill Dakova, but was this a trap?

But there weren't any more traps- not anymore. His eyes had been opened, and now not even the most evil man he had ever met could stop him.

_For Leila._

As he took a step towards Dakova, he felt a force going through him, as if his shoulders were being shaken. Then he heard a voice, but it wasn't Dakova's.

"_What are you doing here?!"_

"_Akkarin! Akkarin, wake up!"_

Then Akkarin woke.

Properly woke this time, not just waking inside a dream, and blinked slowly up at the alarmed face of Takan.


	17. So, Where Now?

Chapter Seventeen: So, Where Now?

"You've killed him, haven't you?" The incredulity in Takan's eyes was as strong as the look of astonishment in his tone of voice. He held out a shaky hand, which Akkarin gratefully took, and allowed himself to be pulled up onto his unsteady feet.

_Strange, I don't remember falling…_

He took a few steps back and Akkarin noticed himself being considered carefully. It took him a few heartbeats to realise that the man was patiently waiting for an answer to his question.

It took Akkarin several seconds to collect his thoughts well enough to respond, and another few to find his tongue enough to give voice to them. He had no idea how much time had passed since he had last spoken. "I think so," was all he could manage, and a wave of disbelief washed over him. But then the memories came back in sudden avalanche of sensations. The sight of the life leaving Dakova's eyes. The strangely gentle sound of his body dropping to the floor. The feel of the sudden rush of power racing through his veins as Akkarin took back what the Ichani Master had stolen from him.

_Dakova's dead! And _I _killed him!_

Takan opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, but then looked away and spoke softly, solemnly. "And… you killed the others?" It was a bald question, but Akkarin knew it was a necessary one.

_If our situations were reversed, it would have been the first question I would have asked. Not the second. _

But despite its necessity, Akkarin couldn't bring himself to answer- he just about managed to nod once. He was just about prepared to admit he had killed someone who had taken such pleasure in hurting others. But having to admit that he had killed those who had never done him any harm… But once again, he couldn't hold back his own recollections.

The stench of death in the camp had been awful, like a suffocating smoke. He remembered wondering whether it was a good or bad thing that he didn't know most of the names of the people that now lay motionless on the cold ground.

_I killed them. Oh, by all the known Gods, I killed all of them. _I _killed them. I _killed _them. I killed _them! Another wave of dizziness passed through him, but this time it was from disgust, not disbelief. It was so strong it almost knocked him to the floor. _Maybe that was what made me collapse before…_

Takan let out a deep, shuddering breath, but his voice was steady when he spoke. "I see," he murmured. He looked back at Akkarin. There was no hesitation in his gaze anymore. His expression was sad, but at their centre there was also understanding, which only proceeded to make Akkarin feel worse. "So, are you going to kill me? I know you may feel that you need to."

Akkarin looked at his friend, and a sickening sweep of sadness and guilt rushed through him. He couldn't believe that his life had brought him to such a moment where Takan had to ask such a question.

_What sort of monster am I? What have I allowed myself to become?!_

"No, of course not," he breathed, desperately pushing down the choking sobs that were trying to escape him. _No. I have not allowed myself to cry once whilst I have been out here, and I will be damned if I start now._ "I couldn't ever do that. Not to someone who has been as good to me as you." But then another thought struck him. "But that doesn't mean you should be here- you need to get away from me. Kariko is going to hunt me down and kill me, no doubt about it. If you are anywhere near me, he will do the exact same thing to you."

With that, he turned in the opposite direction of Takan and started to walk away. Immediately, he heard footsteps behind him, and realised it wasn't going to be that easy to get rid of the man. _Oh, curse him and he confounded loyalty. _

"So, where will you go now?" the voice held concern, like the worry you might have for a family member you know is making a profound mistake, but it is beyond your power to stop them. It was heart warming, even comforting, to know that someone could care so much about him, but Akkarin didn't let himself turn around, he just kept walking, hoping Takan would get the message that he was not welcome. It was sweet of Takan to care, but Akkarin knew he was a lost cause now. Nothing and no one could help him. Not now.

"I neither know nor care. Anywhere has got to be better than here, I suppose."

Takan sighed in an irritated sort of way. Akkarin realised the man was far more stubborn and unyielding than he had ever realised. Perhaps that was what had allowed him to remain alive for so long… "You're being ridiculous," Takan said, not even trying to soften his words.

Despite himself, and the attitude he had been trying to give off, Akkarin stopped and spun around. "Well, it's not exactly like I can go home, now can I?" he said before realising he had shouted the words. He ran his hands over his face and groaned softly.

Spotting a nearby rock, he strode over to it and kicked it with all his might with a shout of frustration. It was clear, even to him then, that the events of the last few hours had truly got to him, and he knew he was no longer capable of making good decisions. "Look, Takan, you've been a good friend. The best of friends through all this. I am sorry that I can't return the favour. But the one good thing to come out of all this is that you are free. You can do whatever you want now, and it'll ease my heart a little to know that I have done that little good."

When he looked up, he saw Takan watching at him, his usual expression of mild curiosity painted across his features. _How can he possibly be so calm? I just have just ripped everything we knew apart, and now we have a very angry black magician on our trail, so how can he just look at me like that?! But then again, he didn't just kill dozens of people… all he is right now is free. _ When Takan spoke next, he spoke slowly. "What if what I wanted was to come with you?"

Akkarin wouldn't allow himself to shout at his friend again, but he also knew he needed to be firm. Because he knew he couldn't live with himself if he allowed Takan, the only person in the world he had left, to be hurt. "Then you're more of an idiot than I ever realised, Takan," he said with quiet emphasis. "At this very moment, a very vengeful Kariko will be thinking up a multitude of ways to find me, and you can guarantee that he won't be keeping you alive for your cooking skills."

Takan crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side. "How does any of that make me an idiot, though? Yes, Kariko is after you, and by extension me, but you know Higher Magic now. That means you can protect both of us- particularly if you take my energy to store. Also, if we follow the only sensible we have going for us and travel to Kyralia, surely I would be safer there than anywhere else I could go on my own?" He tapped his foot lightly on the dusty ground as he once again waited for his answer as Akkarin remain silent.

_Wait… he wants to go to Kyralia? He wants _me _to go to Kyralia?_

Akkarin simply gaped at the Sachakan for a good few seconds before finding the words to speak. He knew there wasn't going to be a quick way to change Takan's mind, but that didn't mean he shouldn't try. "There are… so many things wrong with what you just said."

Takan simply blinked at him, seemingly unperturbed. "Alright, name one."

_I can't believe we're standing here arguing about this at such a time. Oh, but then again, why not? It's not like we're actually ever going to get out of here alive, so where's the problem? But where to begin… _"Well, to start with, I am not going to take your power. I am _not_ an Ichani Master." His mind began to remind him that he had done a lot worse.

_No- not now. I will think about that tomorrow. There will be plenty of time for shame and regret tomorrow. _

Despite everything, Takan even managed a faint smile at Akkarin's reasoning. "Ah, but have already you forgotten, I am offering my power to you freely. You wouldn't be stealing it. Surely you accepted that Black Magic, as you call it, isn't evil in and of itself when you chose to learn it? So you should be able to see the difference between you and Dakova in this way." His expression changed slightly. "I wouldn't be offering it to you if I didn't trust you with it."

Akkarin's heart, though cold and horrified by what he had had to do, was momentarily eased by that. Even after all this, Takan was still willing to trust him. That meant Takan understood the decisions he had made, even the killing of their fellow slaves. That didn't make any of this right, but maybe made it ever so slightly justified. It was then Akkarin realised he was tired. Tired of thinking, tired of being afraid. Tired of being tired… He sighed deeply and kicked at a stone at his feet, sending it clattering down the slope in front of him. "Well I can't argue with that right now, but I will have to think on it."

Takan looked pleased with himself at that. "Fine, while you do that, let's move on to another thing that was wrong with what I said."

Akkarin sighed. "Takan, do you honestly think I can just waltz back through the Guild gates and greet everyone as if the last five years just hadn't happened? Like everything is fine, like I am still the same person?"

"Why ever not? Have you never had to tell a lie for the greater good before?"

"You don't know these people like I do. There will be far too many questions: where have you been, what did you discover, why didn't you contact any of us for so long? And that's just the Guild, that's not even thinking about my family. They'll see right through me. Because _I _can see right through me."

Takan pursed his lips and looked away. "How about this- you went everywhere in the Allied Lands, then went to the Lonmar mountains to study alone- that's also why you were uncontactable. You made a few small findings, but they were lost in your journey home. And as for your family," Takan shrugged. "I always got the impression you didn't like them all that much, anyway."

Akkarin was about to respond with something glib, then stopped himself. "I know I am lucky to have a family, unlike you, so I shouldn't speak too badly of them."

Takan sniffed in such a way that it might have been a laugh. "Me not having a family doesn't mean that your family is saintly. Anyway, you miss my point, which is that if you don't have a close relationship with them, and them with you, surely it should be fairly easy for you to lie to them?"

Akkarin thought about this, then nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right."

Takan clucked his tongue in a self-satisfied sort of way. "So, anything else?"

Akkarin hesitated, then voiced his final concern. "If you were to come with me, what would you do?"

Takan shrugged. "Well, that's easy. I am the humble servant you found during the travels on the border. I offered you my services as a way of getting away from Sachaka. You found useful and persuaded into coming back to serve you in the Guild."

Akkarin frowned at his friend, not wholly convinced. "And you'd be happy, with that kind of life? I thought you'd want to be free."

Takan looked at Akkarin with fondness. He reached out and touched Akkarin on the arm. "But don't you see, I _would _be free. Free from slavery, free from people who wish me harm, free from all… this," he gestured at their surroundings. "Besides, you said yourself, anywhere has go to better than here," he finished softly.

Akkarin turned away, needing to think this decision through carefully. His conscience knew he should say no, absolutely no. That he should drive Takan away, threaten to kill him if he stayed, so that he would be free of all the ghosts of his past. But at the time, Akkarin was also aware of how alone he was- and how scared he was to go back and begin again. He knew he needed someone with him to get him through it, to help him put the past behind him. And maybe, just maybe, he could do the same the same for Takan.

He turned back to Takan and decided to ignore his conscience just this one last time. "Very well. We will attempt at a return to the Guild, with you coming as my servant. But I make you this promise: no matter what happens when we get there, I promise that no one will take your freedom from you ever again. If you wish to leave, you may at any time. You don't have to do anything you don't wish to. And as of this moment, you'll be paid for your services to me- no, don't even try to argue, I'm not willing to have an argument about that. Are we in agreement?"

He put out his hand for Takan to shake. Takan frowned at it, then cautiously reached out his own hand and took it in a firm grip. It was probably the first handshake he had given, Akkarin mused. "We are, Master," he said, a slight smile on his lips, as he let go of the clasp.

Akkarin felt his stomach flip over. "No- don't call me that," he said firmly. The whole point of this is that you're _not_ a slave anymore. You'll get time off, somewhere comfortable to sleep, all the things _he _never gave you. So please don't make the association between me and him."

Takan's lips twitched upward into a smile. "Sorry. Some habits are just hard to break, I suppose. Give me this one. Now I am glad you said yes, as it means I didn't waste my time earlier. Come with me." Takan gestured for Akkarin to follow him, and he strode back in the direction that Akkarin had blindly come just a few minutes prior. Reaching behind a large boulder, he pulled out what appeared to be two makeshift packs. They were filled to the brim with supplies. Food, blankets, clothes, and some suspiciously familiar cooking utensils.

Akkarin raised an eyebrow at his friend. "You've been planning this, haven't you?"

Takan just smiled. "Ever since you said you wanted to learn the Higher Magics. I thought it best to prepare. You didn't think we could just dance our way across the wastes with no food, now did you?"

_Surviving wasn't exactly my strategy until you changed my mind. _

Akkarin considered saying this out loud, but decided it wasn't worth arguing about now, and that such thoughts were less than helpful, now he had decided to live. He picked up the pack that he was offered and rolled his eyes at his friend and newly appointed servant. "Very well, then. We shall come back to that one when I find myself in a better position to argue. Now, which way is South, do you think?"

**I just want to say a big thank you to the guest reviewer who was so nice about my last chapter- thank you so much, I needed that! I want to finish this story by the end of the year, but have to be honest, there's some stuff going on right now which may impact on my ability to do that. I will be burying myself in writing to get through, but do just bare with me. Love, Cece xox**


	18. Home Is The Hunter, Home From The Hill

Chapter Eighteen: Home is the hunter, home from the hill.

The rain was incessant. It had been for about a week now.

It was coming down in such droves that even in his office on the ground floor of the University, the Administrator could hear it beating heavily on the grand building. The wind had picked up over the last couple of days, and was sending the water in great thrashing gusts at the windows. The Administrator absent-mindedly wondered whether he ought to consider the possibility of flooding throughout the city in it didn't stop soon, but immediately chastised himself for having such a thought and pushed it aside.

_Each to our own jobs. Stop trying to run everything! All you'll end up doing is running yourself into the ground…_

After all, he had more than enough to keep him busy with Guild matters without having to do the King's job for him as well- but then again, Merin was young and relatively inexperienced, compared to himself. Perhaps he ought to suggest that the High Lord mention it to the young monarch to look into…But that plan in had its own issues. The Administrator was loath to ask the High Lord to do anything these days- he hadn't been looking well for some time now.

_There you go again, you silly man! Really, you need to focus_

Sighing, he brightened his globe light and forced himself to return to the task at hand- a report from the First Ambassador in Elyne suggested there might be trouble brewing in Capia's court. Several traders had apparently been holding secret meetings in order to organise a trade block unless the Elyne King agreed to tax reforms. It was the kind of situation that the Administrator most feared- one that could seriously impact upon the Guild, but not one they could involve themselves with properly without becoming overly involved in politics. Tricky…

Just as the Administrator was coming up with a solution- a perfect balance of enough diplomacy to seem polite and unobtrusive, and enough forcefulness to ensure a positive outcome for the Guild, there was a timid knock on the door. With a sigh of impatience, the Administrator looked at the door and willed it open with a gentle whisp of magic. A messenger stood at the door, looking slightly nervous. He was breathing heavily from the speed at which he must have come, and his hair glistened with droplets of rain.

The Administrator raised an eyebrow at him, silently hoping that this was something he could pass onto his Assistant- Lorlen really was coming on very well, and could be left to deal with many of the minor issues the Guild faced on a day to day basis. "Well, what can I do for you?"

The messenger suddenly seemed to realise that he was being spoken to- his eyes became more alert and he sketched out a neat bow. "Begging your pardon, Administrator, but the Guard at the Guild entrance weren't sure on how to proceed with a particular situation and asked for your assistance."

The Administrator held back a sigh of irritation. The City Guard always had a way of making situations, as they called them, seem far worse than they actually were. "Oh, and what particular situation may this be?"

"There is a man at the Guild gates who is claiming to be a magician and wants to be let in. But he isn't wearing robes and…" the messenger hesitated, looking a little sheepish. "and is less than well attired."

The Administrator was about to ask why they didn't simply ask the man to perform magic for them, but then decided the Guard didn't want to put themselves as potential danger from challenging someone who could potentially hurt them. Good decision. So, how to proceed?

"Did this man give the Guard he spoke to a name?"

"He says his name Lord Akkarin, my Lord. A Lord Akkarin of the Family Delvon, House Velan. -He says he left the Guild on a research trip some years before and hasn't been in contact for some time, but has now returned."

"Lord Akkarin," the Administrator murmured, astonished. It was a name that had been mentioned to him several times over the past few years- first with humour at the man's ability to disappear, then frustration at his inability to return, then concern at his continued absence. The last the Guild had heard was that he was retreating to the mountains to study in solitude, apart from the local farmers, of course. They had assumed if any harm had come to him, the locals would have informed the Elyne court, who would have in turn informed the Guild. As they had heard nothing, the young warrior must be simply flexing his right to be annoying. But now he had suddenly returned. Or… had he? Perhaps this was someone making use of Akkarin's absence… He decided he didn't have enough information to go on at present. "You had better bring the so-called Lord Akkarin to me so I can ascertain who exactly it is that we are dealing with," he said firmly.

The messenger shuffled awkwardly. "Actually, my Lord, the Captain of the Guild Guard has said that he will not let this man in until he has been properly identified. You will have to come to him." The man's expression was apologetic, but showed no room for negotiation.

The Administrator resisted the urge to roll his eyes- it wasn't this young man's fault, after all, but this did seem a ridiculous precaution. "Well then, I shall have to come to him, I suppose." He folded the letter he had been reading and placed it in a drawer in his desk, then rose. He smoothed his robes, locked his door with magic and strode in the direction of the Guild entrance, hearing the patter of the young messenger's feet behind him.

As they made their way down the ornate entrance steps to the University, the Administrator created a shield to protect himself from the rain and glanced at the messenger. "Where exactly has the man in question been taken?"

"To the Guard House," the boy replied, nodding at the sturdy looking building to the right of the Guild gates. A Guard stood at the entrance, staring at a fixed position somewhere in the distance. As the Administrator approached, he could hear the rain bouncing off his armour with a satisfyingly tinny noise. The man bowed and opened the door to the building. The Administrator nodded his thanks and stepped inside- glad to be out of the rain, even after such a short spell in it. Immediately, an older man with gold edging on his armour came forwards to meet him.

"Administrator, thank you for coming so quickly. I am Gannel, the Captain on duty, I am sort for the trouble I have caused you, particularly in this weather."

"Do not apologise, you're only doing your job, after all. Thank you for alerting me to this, Captain Gannel. I am certainly hoping you haven't put this man in a cell- he certainly hasn't done anything to warrant it, and may well be a Guild magician."

"No, of course not, my Lord, he's just through here." Gannel gestured for the Administrator to follow him. He strode to the back of the entrance room where there were doors on each side. Gannel went to the left door and opened it, revealing what appeared to be a currently dark small dining room. Instinctively, the Administrator made a globe light and filled the room with a dim but helpful light. It showed a rather scuffed but large table filed most of the room. Sturdy chairs surrounded it. All of them were empty. Save one.

At the far end of the table, a man sat. His posture was one of a man considering a difficult problem- his arms rested on his legs and his head was bent low, almost touching them. His hair was somewhat longer than one would expect for a Kyralian man, and an unkempt beard covered his jaw. All in all- not exactly the graceful visage of a member of the Magicians' Guild. More a man of low station who appeared to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

As the globe light had been sparked into existence, the man looked up towards the doorway.

"Ah, Administrator, they said they had sent for you. This must be something of a shock- it has been a while."

The voice was both familiar and strange. It sounded like the young man who had left the Guild nearly six years ago, but at the same time seemed to hold a lot more weight- gravitas, one might call it, the Administrator mused. The sound of a young person who had come to realisation that their words _meant _something now.

As he had been thinking this, the man before had risen from his chair, surprisingly gracefully for someone who looked not much better than a beggar. He held his height with obvious care and dignity. He bowed his head politely and from that moment, the Administrator was under no doubt that this was the warrior who had disappeared. The only difference was that the boy had left and the man had returned.

_Clean him up a bit and put him in some robes, and he could be quite…well, impressive!_

"Lord Akkarin, it is most gratifying to see you again, it has indeed been quite some time since I last set eyes on you." The Administrator turned back to the Captain. "Thank you for your services, Captain. I can confirm this man is of the Guild. He shall return with me- if he is free to go?"

The Captain bowed his assent. "Of course, my Lord."

The Administrator beckoned to Akkarin. "Come, I believe you may be in need of some fresh robes and a rest. If you don't mind me asking—" The Administrator was drawn from his question as he realised, with not a little shock, there was a fourth person in the room. A man of short stature and with tanned skin had stepped out of the shadows of the corner of the room when Akkarin had made to move round the table to the door. The man made a graceful bow towards the Administrator, but kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Akkarin looked at the Administrator as his question went unfinished and followed his gaze.

"Oh, I should explain—" he said, gesturing to the new figure, "this man is a servant I met whilst on my travels. He has agreed to serve me in the Guild. I hope this is convenient."

The Administrator as so perturbed from not realising the man had been standing there watching him he answered almost without thinking. "Of course, I don't see why ever not." It was only as they left the room and he allowed himself another glance at the man through the corner of his eye that he realised the man must be Sachakan. He decided to think about the implications of having a Sachakan in the Guild at another time. He clearly wasn't a threat, so it could be left for now. Now there were more important, and interesting, questions to ask.

"I believe you were about to ask me a question, Administrator?" Akkarin's softly spoken voice brought him back from his thoughts.

"Oh, yes. I believe I was going to ask what happened to your robes? As I see you are…ah, without them."

Akkarin looked down at himself, a frown darkening his face. It was only then that the Administrator noticed how thin the man was- thin and tired looking. And this didn't appear the natural wear that one gets from long periods of travel. No, this was a more sustained look of fatigue.

_Goodness, what has happened to him?!_

"I am afraid to say that I managed to lose them. I took to wearing the clothes of the local people in the mountains- the red of the robes made me far too easily noticed in that environment- but somehow they all went missing, I don't know whether by accident or by design. Either way, I shall be heartedly pleased to have new ones."

"I see."

The Administrator stepped out into the miserable grey day once again. As he had before, he made a shield against the rain without thinking. Looking once again at his companion, he was curious to notice that he didn't make a shield. He looked as if he were prepared to walk through the rain to the university and simply get wet. Then Akkarin seemed to notice he was being watched, and quickly made a shield to protect himself- and his servant.

_Curiouser and curiouser… _

"So, time for the obvious question, I suppose- where have you been, exactly? Everyone was getting quite anxious. Your mother has contacted me many times- she has been quite desperate to hear news of you."

"Ah. Then I must apologise on her behalf- I know how she can get when she doesn't get the answer she wants." Akkarin took a deep breath. "As I say, after I had been to the Allied Lands to do my research, I went to the mountains. There I finished my book. I found it so peaceful there I stayed much longer than I intended. It was there I found Takan." Akkarin gestured absently at the man who followed them up the University steps at a polite distance. "Unfortunately I wasn't able to find any good means of transport back- as I say, I had lost my robes and no one believed me when I said I was of the Guild. So we were forced to take the long road back. As you can imagine we had to deal with all sorts of difficulties, and due to that all my notes and the only copy of my book were lost."

The Administrator looked at Akkarin in surprise. This story didn't fit the image that the Administrator had in his head of the young man at all- the novice who was always the brightest in his year, the one who managed to balance being popular but also a diligent student- he had lost all of his findings?! "So you have no records at all? Of any of the research you did?"

Akkarin shook his head, and looked suitably despondent. "No. It is, as you can imagine, a source of deep regret to me. All that time and nothing to show for it. Quite the wasted trip."

The Administrator shrugged. "Well, I don't know about that. now you're home and safe, maybe you might want to think about finding it all again. Surely it won't be as hard as the first time?"

Akkarin smiled thinly, looking away. "Perhaps. For now, I think I may simply enjoy being home."

"Indeed, you are the hunter who has returned from the hill, you have earnt yourself a rest. Walking all the way back here, it's almost unheard of! I will arrange for your old rooms to be prepared for you- and have a tailor sent to you to get to some fresh robes. You know where the baths are, of course, should you wish to make use of them."

The Administrator had expected some sort of response from the younger man to that, so was surprised when silence came. When he glanced to the side, he realised Akkarin was no longer walking next to him. He looked behind, back to where the top of the stairs met the great university doors that led up to the Guildhall. Akkarin stood there, staring at the great space with wide eyes. The Administrator couldn't help but smile at his expression.

"It appears you're not used to such surroundings yet. Don't worry, I am sure it will come back to you. Welcome home, Lord Akkarin."

Akkarin dragged his eyes away from the great façade and turned to look at him. The Administrator was startled to see the haunted look in his eyes as he attempted a small smile and nod at the words. "Thank you, Administrator. It is indeed…most pleasant to be back with you all."

"I am sure there will be a great many people who will be most eager to hear stories from your travels."

Akkarin nodded absently at that, but said nothing. The Administrator watched as Akkarin once again bowed his head politely, then slowly turned and paced away in the direction of the Baths, the servant following only a step behind, and wondered at seeing such a deep, despairing look on one so young. It was in that moment that the Administrator decided that he did not believe Akkarin's story, and also decided he would make considerable efforts to find out what had actually happened to him.

**Happy Election Day to all my UK followers! If you haven't voted, go do that NOW. Literally right now. Sending love to you all from a cold and winter North. **


	19. Reunion

Chapter Nineteen: Reunion

Lorlen reached for the letter that the Administrator had finished reading through and signing and added to the other pile of papers under his arm before returning his attention to his scrawled list of tasks. "There's just one item left for today- did you want to put in an order for new carpets in the Magicians' Quarters now, or do you want to wait until next year, when we'll have more of an idea of how much money is available?"

The Administrator frowned. "Ah, I hadn't thought of that- yes, I suppose we have spent a lot this year, particularly with the renovations to the roof." He ran a hand through his grey hair before grunting to himself with finality. "Let's leave it until next year- and of there are any complaints, we can say we're looking into who can give us the best price. Is that it, then?"

Lorlen nodded an affirmation, crossing off the last bullet point on his paper with a flourish. "Yes, Administrator."

The Administrator screwed the cap back on his pen, which Lorlen knew was his liege's customary signal that he was excused. He had only been in the position of assistant to the Administrator for less than two months, but he was quickly picking up on the man's little signals that he dotted all around the place- the desire to be left alone, for someone to be brought in, for something to be done quicker. As Lorlen started to place all his paperwork back into the binder he had realised he desperately needed a few weeks ago, the Administrator made a sudden noise of realisation.

"Ah, Lorlen," he began. "I meant to mention this to you yesterday but it completely slipped my mind- I apologise. You were- well, are- good friends with Lord Akkarin, are you not?"

Lorlen's stomach jolted slightly- it had been a long time since he had heard anyone but his closest friends mention Akkarin. He had thought about asking the Administrator to look into the whereabouts of his friend, but reasoned that others much higher up in the Guild would decide when such actions needed to be taken, and had tried, with little success, to calm his worries. "Yes, but I haven't heard from him in such a long time. Why, has there been news?" He felt a sudden jolt of anxiety- was it bad news?

The Administrator smiled. "Better- he has returned! He came back yesterday- a bit bedraggled, the poor fellow, having dragged himself across the Allied Lands on just his own two feet, but in one piece. I thought you might like to know."

Lorlen blinked at the man in disbelief, then realised he was being rude and needed to reply. "Absolutely," he managed to stutter out, hoping that any pleasure he was exuding came across as professional and not excessive. "I shall go and find him at once! If that's acceptable to you?"

The Administrator waved a hand absently, a sure sign he was finished with the conversation at hand. "Of course."

"Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."

The Administrator gave him a knowing smile. "Have a good evening, Lorlen."

Lorlen nodded respectfully then made for the door, then his mind made him stop, a question suddenly occurring to him. "Administrator, when you say bedraggled, what exactly do you mean?"

The Administrator looked up and shrugged. "Oh, well he just was a bit the worse for wear from travelling- he wasn't wearing robes for one thing, and wasn't recognisable to the point where I was dragged out to the Guard House to identify him. Oh, and he brought a Sachakan servant back with him, if you can believe it!"

Lorlen frowned- that was certainly _not _like Akkarin. "How strange. Well I shall have to ask him about that. Thank you again Administrator."

Nodding again to the man, Lorlen left the room. He didn't allow himself to run in the direction of the Magicians' Quarters, but did set off at a very brisk walk.

He remembered the way to Akkarin's rooms with ease. He took the stairs two at a time, then raced round the last two corners. Coming up on the door, he slowed and took a deep breath to steady his racing pulse. It wouldn't do for his best friend to think he had gone mad.

He knocked, but didn't wait for a response. He opened the door open wide. Inside he was met with the familiar décor of a magician's guest room. Standing at an open chest filled with books was a red robed back. The door slipped through Lorlen's fingers and slammed shut, making the figure jolt suddenly.

"You're back?!" he said, not a little breathlessly.

The man turned, and for the first time in five years, Lord Akkarin of the Family Delvon, House Velan, Warrior of the Magicians' Guild of Kyralia, was stood in front of him. Akkarin looked a little startled from the slammed door, but then appeared to recognise the man in front of him and gave his customary half smile. "What did that door ever do to you?"

Lorlen could have rolled his eyes if he wasn't so pleased to see his friend- there was that customary sardonic humour, still in full force. "Oh, hang the door, you're back!" Dropping his binder on a table, he strode to his friend and enveloped him in a firm hug. He felt Akkarin stiffen slightly at first, then relax and hug him back.

Lorlen pulled away and grinned at Akkarin, taking in the sight of him. He looked like his old self, but there was something also slightly unfamiliar about him.

_Maturity, I suppose…_

"Where have you been?!" he couldn't help but sound incredulous. "The Administrator just told me you just strolled up to the gates, servant in tow and wearing normal clothes!"

Akkarin gave that same smile again and shrugged slightly. "That's about the size of it. It was...an interesting road back." He looked around the space and a frown creased his forehead. "Sorry, I'd offer you a drink, but-"

Lorlen waved a hand dismissively. "Oh don't worry about that, I just wanted to see you. After all, you've been gone nearly six years!"

"I am aware."

"And I didn't hear from you for about five of them!"

"I am aware."

With those three words, Lorlen knew something was wrong. That repeated response wasn't Akkarin's usual dry sense of humour, which was always accompanied with a sly smile or slight wink. The words were said coldly and with an irritable edge- and that was not like Akkarin in the slightest… This man was his Akkarin, his oldest and dearest friend, but he also…_wasn't_. There was now an extra edge to him Lorlen didn't know. But then again, maybe he was just tired. He had come a long way, by the sounds of it.

Lorlen decided to push away his lingering anxieties to the side for now and folded himself into the nearest chair. "Well, what have you been doing?" he asked. "Did you write your book? Is it any good?"

Akkarin, who had continue to busy himself by sorting through his book collection, winced "Ah, bad news on that score. Yes, I did write it and yes, it was pretty good, but all my papers were lost. As I say, bad journey home."

Suddenly, Akkarin's low demeanour made sense. Lorlen didn't know what to say to that, so a lame single syllable escaped his lips. "Ah."

Despite the sadness in his eyes, Akkarin appeared to find the word amusing and chuckled slightly. "Yes, my thoughts exactly."

Lorlen considered- surely the entire journey shouldn't just be forgotten, put in the past as if nothing had been learnt at all? "Well, you could go back and regain them- retrace your steps, so to speak?"

Akkarin immediately shook his head. "Oh, no- I've had my fill of travelling. I've decided I'm going to settle down."

Lorlen raised his eyebrows at his friend in disbelief. "You, settle down?!"

Akkarin nodded. "Absolutely. I was thinking about teaching, actually."

It was Lorlen's turn to laugh then. "That I am going to have to see. I'm imagining you surrounded by a group of rowdy first years, trying to teach them a basic shield. Your talents completely wasted."

Akkarin grimaced at the words. "Well first years are out of the question- and I believe that to say teaching is a waste of talents is rather short-sighted."

"Of course, I wasn't being serious. Anyway, I've haven't come completely empty-handed, I come with an invitation- the Peren twins- you know, Darlen and Korlin- they're holding drinks tonight. Everyone will be overjoyed to see you- it's been so long since we've seen anyone but each other! Will you come?"

Akkarin's face had tensed as Lorlen had spoken. "I don't know, Lorlen- I'm not exactly used to company," he said carefully, as if trying to hide some hidden emotion.

Lorlen frowned. "What do you mean? I would have thought all you've been doing is drinking at very fancy parties, surrounded by very fancy women."

"Well I wasn't. I told you, I was working."

And with those words, Lorlen didn't just know something was wrong- he knew something was badly wrong. Akkarin had never snapped at him before, not even when they had been at their most stressed during their years studying. Lorlen had seen his friend tired before, and he had never acted so. Akkarin seemed to have realised the same thing, as he looked down at the floor and cleared his throat into the awkward silence that had settled between them, another thing that had never happened before.

"I- I did a lot of private study, alone. In the mountains of Elyne. That's where I wrote the vast majority of my book. Not much company there, beyond sheep-herders who only speak a dialect of Elyne I have never studied." He looked up and gave a half-hearted smile. Lorlen was almost positive that his hands were shaking.

He smiled calmly at his friend, leaning forward in his chair towards him. "You'll be fine, Akkarin. After all, you were always the person everyone wanted to talk to." Then a thought struck him that he thought would act as all the persuasion Akkarin needed. "Enya will be there, you know?" He winked at his friend, who gave a cough that could have been an attempt at a laugh and turned away.

"So what have you been doing?" Akkarin asked. "I'm going to assume not teaching."

Lorlen wondered whether he should let his friend change the subject so easily, but decided on balance it was probably for the best. "Oh, well I was until fairly recently. But then the Administrator asked for a new assistant- actually, he asked for me."

Akkarin's head snapped round, and he gave his friend an impressed look. "Well, that's a feather in your cap, I must say. Well done, old friend. Be careful, though, you're in the firing line to get the job yourself."

Lorlen felt his face flush and was irritated at himself for it. "Well that would be...interesting. And is certainly not in my plans for the future. But speaking of the higher magicians, you must have heard about the High Lord?"

"Ah, yes, I did," Akkarin said with a sigh.

"I heard Vinara say a few days ago that she thinks he has weeks." One of the best parts of Lorlen's job is that he got to hear all the breaking news at least several hours, but mainly days, before anyone else.

"Poor old bastard. The job probably killed him," Akkarin replied non-committedly, reaching to open another box.

"I wonder who will replace him," Lorlen mused.

"Some other poor old bastard, obviously."

_Ah, so his sense of humour hasn't completely died… I wonder if he knows. Perhaps I shouldn't bring it up seeing as he isn't in the best of moods. But the again, I don't bring it up now someone else will just bring it up again later._

Akkarin turned when Lorlen didn't say anything else and looked at him curiously. "What?"

Lorlen couldn't help the smile that came at his friend's confused face. "Oh, nothing."

"No, what?"

"Well...you should know that because the High Lord has been unwell for some time, this discussion has been going on in the Guild for a few months now. And…more than one person has mentioned your name to the Administrator- as a candidate, I should clarify."

The book dropped from Akkarin's hand with a soft clatter onto the carpeted floor. "Say that again."

"I said that quite a few people consider you to be a strong candidate."

Akkarin looked at him as if he was completely and utterly mad. "I can't be hearing this right."

"Really, did you lose the use of your ears in the mountains? I hadn't noticed."

Akkarin didn't even smile at that, simply continued to gape. "You're playing some terrible joke on me- admit it."

Lorlen scoffed. "Would I joke about a dying High Lord?"

Akkarin didn't answer that. He looked away, and Lorlen could see that his mind was reeling with this new and apparently disturbing information. "Well, that is ridiculous. I'm far too young and have been away far too long. What do they think I would know about…High Lording?"

Lorlen shook his head- that wasn't the point. "But-"

"Besides, it's just speculation. And think about it- the man's not even dead yet, and already everyone is jostling for position." Akkarin snorted softly to himself and shook his head. "They're all thinking how this could work in their favour. I think that's pretty horrific. And I refuse to join in. If someone wants to discuss this with me _after _the High Lord has passed, then I am willing. But before then would be insensitive and quite frankly ridiculous. Though it would be ridiculous anyway."

As much as Lorlen desperately wanted to ignore it, Akkarin's words and feelings were too obvious for Lorlen to pretend he hadn't seen them. He had to be a good friend, first and foremost. Good friends do two things. The first thing they do is say the things their friend doesn't necessarily want to hear, but needs to hear.

"Well, that's not how they see it. They see it as making the necessary preparations. But of course you're right, it is all just speculation at this point." A pause. "Akkarin?"

"Hmm?" Akkarin picked up the book he had dropped and added to one of the stacks he was making.

Another pause. The second thing a good friend does is make himself available to listen to what their friend needs to say, even if they know they really aren't going to like what they are going to hear.

"What happened out there?"

Akkarin frowned, then made a bad attempt at a fake laugh. "Who said anything happened? Nothing did."

"You just…don't seem yourself."

"It's-" Akkarin looked at his friend and sighed. Looking defeated, he finally came and sat down in the opposite chair to Lorlen, but kept his gaze locked on his hands in his lap. "Look, being away, travelling- it changed me. I got used to a different kind of life, a different way of living. Without many people around. It may take me some time to adjust. So you might have to be patient with me for a while."

"Hmm." Lorlen shook his head slowly. He didn't believe that for an instant. "Well it may have been a while, but I have known you since you were fifteen, Akkarin of Delvon. I know when you're angry, when you're worried and when you're lying. And you're lying right now. That's alright, though, I'm not angry or anything about that, I don't expect you to suddenly trust me again- but when, if, you want to talk about it, whatever "it" is, I'll be here."

Akkarin's head rose from his chest and gazed across at him. From the look on his face, it occurred to Lorlen that no one had said anything like that to him in a while. And perhaps he was imaging it, but maybe is friend was blinking a little more than was normal.

"Thank you," he said stiffly. Lorlen let his shoulders rise and fall slightly, trying to not make a big thing out of it- the last think he knew Akkarin would want would be some big show of emotion, so now the words had been put out there, he would leave the topic be- at least for now. Slapping his hands on his thighs, he rose with what he hoped was a sense of finality.

"Well what are friends for if not for talking to each other? Now, moving on, are you coming to this drinks thing or what? The twins will be starting any moment- as you may well remember, they like to drink a lot and as soon as they possibly can."

Akkarin seemed to wrestle with himself internally, his face a complex mixture of emotions. Then he straightened his back, rose and gave Lorlen a patient look. "Alright, but the moment Darlen starts doing his impression of Vinara, I'm leaving."

Lorlen felt a rush of relief go through him- perhaps if he could persuade Akkarin back out of the defensive shield he had built around himself, he could help him heal from whatever it was that had happened during his travels. "Fine, I can accept those terms." He went to the door to the corridor outside and opened it before Akkarin could change his mind. He slowed for Akkarin to catch up with him after he closed and locked his door. "Now, I should probably catch you up on a few things- you used to always secretly enjoy gossip, don't even try to deny it!" Akkarin had opened his mouth seemingly to protest, but shut it with a faint smile. Lorlen continued. "Well, as you know, at graduation Grenin asked Isla to marry him, which she agreed to at the time- but six months later he caught her…" and so he carried on. He quickly noticed that Akkarin seemed to be far more comfortable listening and chuckling at their friends' antics. rather than talking at the moment, so decided to fill the silence between them with meaningless chatter- perhaps he should find a way to gently mention that to the other party goers when they arrived…

_I will get the truth out of you, one way or another, Delvon. I promise you that. _

**As ever, thank you for reading and reviewing! Life is still busy, but a little more back to normal than it was a week or so ago. One last chapter, eek!**


	20. Bad Moon Rising

Chapter Twenty: Bad Moon Rising

The evenings were drawing in fast now. And as of this moment, as our story comes around to its ending stanzas, the Guild, apart from the dim glow from the occasional globe light, was shrouded in darkness, a timid anticipation drawn about it like a clock against the chill night air. Far above, the +moon was already rising high in the sky, bright and open like an eye. Watching, waiting.

In the High Lord's Residence, a once ambitious young man looked out over the Guild gardens before him. Though it was now late, this had been his first chance to look at them from this vantage point, this being his first night in his new home. It had been a day of hectic decision-making and constant flurries of activity, but he wanted to take in the view from his new bedroom just once before attempting to settle down to sleep.

He wondered at the sight before him, a sight he was now supposed to lead over and protect above all other commitments. A pensive look of worry shadowed the elegant features of his face, and in one swift pull of his magic, he brought the blinds down to hide the sight from his eyes. There were too many thoughts passing through his mind- too many decisions to make and too many consequences to face.

The first: the consequences of the death of the High Lord, now nine months ago. The Guild had followed its ancient customs to the letter. It had grieved, then it had deliberated, had made its decision and now it was ready to announce it in a fully throated voice to the entire world. Tomorrow, its new age would begin, a new High Lord at its head. It was amazing to think how much had changed in just ten or so months for the man at the window.

He had been called before the King and the Higher Magicians at the palace almost three months prior to this night. He had stood waiting patiently as they gazed upon him with great solemnity, until the King had finally spoken. The man had known what the monarch was about to say, of course, every single person in the room, from the greatest magician to the humblest messenger boy, did. But tradition dictated that this conversation occurred and was witnessed.

"Lord Akkarin," Merin had said in his deep, official tones, ones that Akkarin would once have made fun of, "I have come to the end of my period of deliberation. I, with the help of the Higher Magicians, considered several candidates from numerous angles and took the advice of many people across the Allied Lands. In the end, the decision was unanimous and easy. Lord Akkarin, it had been decided that you will be the next High Lord of the Magicians' Guild of Kyralia. Will you accept the honour and take the necessary vows?"

The King had stared him down across the long table, bejewelled fingers placed carefully on its edge, his dark grey eyes seemingly wanting to catch the most minute of movements in Akkarin's body, the smallest twitches of his face. Testing the steel of his nerve, his commitment. As if Akkarin had the choice to run away from his fate at this point. What was the King going to do if he saw something he didn't like? Bang his fists down on the table and say that the last three months had been a waste of time and they needed to start again? Honestly, this was all a circus, pomp and pageantry that once upon a time, these two men would have laughed heartedly at.

_This is a very strange position for us to find ourselves in_, Akkarin had mused to himself at the time. _I suppose he was always destined for great things, and maybe I wanted to be as well… but I don't think either of us when were mere boys, playing at being knights in the gardens of the palace he would one day inherit, expected that I would end up as the most powerful magician in the Allied Lands, and for both of us to be in such powerful positions so young. We were mere children who would have been terrified of the tasks ahead of them, but would have fought bravely not to show it…_

But now they must put aside what was done and over with, and whatever residual fear might remain. Childhood was over, and duty had begun. Forget Akkarin and Merin. Now, King and High Lord. The dice had been rolled, and fate had spoken.

With genuine humility, Akkarin had bowed his head and accepted a fate he desperately didn't want. "If you consider me worthy of it, Your Majesty, then of course I will."

Merin nodded once. "I do. You will spend the next three months preparing for your role, after which you will officially be invested at your Ascension ceremony, which will take place after the court's Winter festivities. Congratulations, High Lord." The man had then rose and, unexpectedly, inclined his head to the new leader. The others around the table had quickly followed his direction.

"High Lord," they had murmured- and if was from that moment on that people seemed to struggle to maintain eye contact with him. Even Balkan, who Akkarin knew had considered him something of a product of his own making, now stoically looked down at the table. But then again, maybe he had his own personal reasons for that.

A part of Akkarin wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of all this…again, pomp and pageantry. Little did these fools know they were bowing to a former slave. Another part of him wanted to cry for exactly the same reason.

_They can never know. They can never know any of it. Ever. _

Looking back on it now, as he stared out in the darkness on the eve on the aforementioned Ascension Ceremony, that meet seemed even more ridiculous than it had then and there. The decision had been unanimous, the King had said- ha! But of course it had been unanimous! Because the Higher Magicians had been given no choice but to vote for him. It's amazing what people are able to overlook to avoid a candidate they don't like.

There had only been two real contenders besides Akkarin. The first was, of course, Balkan. But he was swiftly dismissed as he simply wasn't enough of a character within the Guild, or indeed within the wider magical community, to have made enough of an impact. He was reliable, efficient, but was…oh I don't know, he was _missing _something necessary in a High Lord. Noticing this change in the wind of his prospects, Balkan stepped aside from consideration, citing that he believed he was in the right position as Head of Warriors at this moment in time. He then threw his weight behind Akkarin's 'campaign' (though it should be noted that Akkarin did none of the campaigning himself, others did it for him), because, as he said to Akkarin in private, he would rather have seen the Guild up in flames than in the hands of the other candidate.

Because that final nominee was, of all things, a woman.

I mean, I ask you. The audacity. The disrespect.

Never in the history of the Guild had a woman ever been considered strong enough to lead. It should be remembered the number of women who had joined the ranks of the Higher Magicians was vanishingly small. Aside from Vinara, who had had to work incredibly hard to reach her position, there had been no other women Higher Magicians in over eighty years. So when a woman's name was put forward as a candidate for the great chair in the Guildhall, the Guild had taken in a joined gasp horror. The title High Lady was considered a contradiction in terms- by even, sadly, the women of the Guild themselves. If we teach our daughters that they are not good enough for something, they will believe it, even if its to their own detriment. What is probably the most insulting differentiation of all this was that women were considered intelligent enough to become magicians, they weren't generally considered to have what it took to lead men to victory. I know, that logic baffles me too.

And so, the short list dropped down to one. And that one man, if he had had any other choice, would have asked not to be nominated, then begged not to be chosen, if it hadn't been for the second consequence of recent events that was on his mind this particular evening.

And what was that the second consequence on Akkarin's mind? It was the presence of black magic wielding Sachakans within Imardin's own walls- and with them, they brought a fear so dark and terrible, and yet so real.

It had started some six months ago, just as the selection process for the new High Lord was beginning. The first sign was a strange death which Akkarin had heard about through Lorlen, who was proving to be an excellent source of information as the Administrator's Assistant. The body, Lorlen said, had been found in a prominent area of the northern part of the slums- if foul play was involved, it was almost as if the murderer had wanted it to be spotted. And here was the other strange thing- there was no obvious cause of death, save for a long, shallow cut on the man's skin. Because of that, the City Guard had thought it prudent to involve the Guild in the investigation- either this was an illness that the medics couldn't identify, or it was a particularly malicious murder. And here was the strangest part of all- held tight in the man's cold hand was a piece of cloth with scrawled letters on it. With a sense of foreboding, Akkarin had nonchalantly asked what the words were, and Lorlen had shrugged.

"Oh, something in a different language, I didn't recognise it. The Administrator has asked me to look into having it translated- say, do you think someone from the Great Library would be able to help? That man who helped you when you were there, you said he was good with languages?"

As the sense of foreboding intensified, Akkarin felt the slightest of chills run down his spine. He murmured something about seeing what he could do, then had slipped off as quickly as he could.

He didn't feel good about breaking into the Administrator's office to find the scrap, and felt even worse when he couldn't find it and realised he was going to have to break into Lorlen's desk. But when he read the words written on the dirty piece of material, and took it back to his rooms for Takan to confirm his worst fears, he knew that any guilt he felt needed to put aside for the greater good.

_I'm coming to get you, Kyralian, _it said. _Did you miss us?_

After a full day of trying to deny this was happening, Takan eventually talked some sense into him, and sent Akkarin out to do the only thing he could- he had tracked down the person responsible and had killed him with the magical ability he had sworn to himself he would never use again, to make sure that no other innocent slum dweller was hurt. Akkarin didn't know what made his nausea worse- the fact he had had to kill yet again, or that it was clear that Kariko was truly planning on upholding his blood oath to his brother.

Time had passed and no other strange deaths occurred in the slums, much to Akkarin's relief- as by this time the decision had been made that he was to become High Lord, and he had many preparations to make and things to learn. But that didn't mean that more slaves wouldn't come- and then, eventually, the man himself would. Once he had built himself enough of an army, he was coming to get them.

But as the Administrator had walked in him through what the Guild expected of him, Akkarin had slowly realised, whilst laying awake for half those nights, that perhaps these two events- the death of the High Lord and the presence of the Sachakan slaves, were somehow serendipitous. As High Lord, and the only person who knew about the threat from Sachaka, he would be able to watch the events of Imardin without anyone thinking anything of it- a part of his role was ensuring the safety of not just the Guild, but of all Kyralia. He could adopt an air of mystery about himself, make himself seem unapproachable and aloof to all but a select few. He could slip away without anyone raising an eyebrow, and know things he apparently wasn't supposed to know. He could make himself into a myth, a legend, a…well, a parent, he supposed.

To his revulsion, Dakova had been absolutely right. It was all about smoke and mirrors now.

There are an infinite number of ways to finish a story- a cautionary tale's warning to be heeded, a fable's lesson to be learned, I could go on. Me, you ask, as you once again wonder where I am headed in such philosophical terms? How do you plan on finishing your story? Me, I plan on finishing this story very simply- with the truth.

And the truth was that this was a bad moon that was rising over Guild this night, and it couldn't be stopped. Its evil glare would cast a long shadow over the Guild, a darkness no one would notice but this young man alone, for many years to come at least. A shadow that couldn't be stopped, a fate that could not be overcome.

Because here's one last truth for you: As far as we try to run, as fast and we try to escape, we cannot get away from the tales that insist on being told.

But all that's another story.

_Fin_

**From my little part of the world to yours, may I offer you the warmest of seasonal greetings and all the best for 2020. Can you believe we're about to enter the THIRD decade of the century, and I have made it to the end of my second story? EEEEK! But wait. There's more. Don't go anywhere. Love, Cece xox**


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